


You're Dripping With Sin (And I Could Lap You Up)

by everybreathagift



Series: Decadence [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Will, Exploration, Hannibal is Hannibal, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masochism, Murder, Power Play, Sadism, Top Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hannibal's submissive is assaulted, he asks Will to give him advice. The knowledge that Hannibal is the very thing that Will has never allowed himself to want creates a change, a break in their conversations. Will is a bundle of need, and Hannibal hasn't a bit of professionalism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: this chapter has a graphic recollection of sexual assault.
> 
> All errors are my own, I didn't have a beta for this. Sincerest apologies.

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this, Will. It means a great deal to me.”

“It's no trouble. I saw far too much of this when I was a cop,” Will shrugs, refusing to fidget as he sits in the passenger seat of Hannibal's Bentley. 

The request itself wasn't unusual; Will had been a cop, after all, and Hannibal's friend had been assaulted but was unsure how to proceed, unsure if he even should press charges. What was unusual was seeing Hannibal twitch, break eye contact, shift from foot to foot as he explained that he and his friend had a rather _unorthodox_ relationship and that Will should expect their interactions accordingly.

A Dominant. That's what Hannibal was, in his personal life. His friend was a submissive. Hannibal's submissive. Will's therapist’s submissive. The therapist he's uncomfortably attracted to. 

Will doesn't admit that he would've gone regardless of reasons simply to meet the man that has Hannibal's affections. The idea that Hannibal even has affections outside of expensive wine and even more expensive food is astonishing to Will, affections in the shape of a man, at that. But, no, he's merely going as a favor to a friend. 

“Are you alright?” Will asks, remembering that this _is_ Hannibal's friend. Maybe he's not handling it well. 

“I will be, once I assess the damage,” Hannibal replies, cool tone and composed. “There are too many people in our community that masquerade as competent Tops, as an excuse to abuse. I had hoped Peter would never encounter one.” 

“But I thought-” Will cuts himself off, heat rising to his cheeks as he inwardly curses his inability to keep his damned mouth shut. “Sorry, it's none of my business." 

“You may ask anything you like, Will,” Hannibal says easily. “I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable answering.” 

And if that didn't open the floodgates on Will's never ending curiosity. Rather than asking things about rules, beatings, _sex_ , Will sticks with his original inquiry. 

“I- I know very little about… that, but you said he was your submissive so I assumed- are the two of you-” 

Will nearly blows a kiss to the heavens when Hannibal, gracefully, of course, interprets and then interrupts his rambling. 

“Peter and I are not exclusive. He entertains other Dominants, and I entertain other submissives. Though, I trained him, so he feels a particular fondness for me, as I still feel for the Dominant that taught me. In truth, he and I haven't had anything outside of formalities in many months, now.” 

“Oh,” Will responds dumbly, looking down to pick at his thumbnail. 

“I can all but feel your need to interrogate me,” Hannibal says, but Will knows it's teasing, can hear the smile in Hannibal's voice. 

“Curiosity about the unknown,” Will lies, because it's so much more than just that. Will doesn't think about what it is, though. Not yet. 

Later, when he's alone, Hannibal an hour away and a safe distance from Will's lack of self control, he'll think about all the things he's seen once or thirty times on websites he certainly doesn't have bookmarked. Put Hannibal in place of the man in leather, but still holding the whip-belt-flogger and Will will be the man strapped-tied-bolted to the table, but not begging it to stop. 

He's been half hard most of the ride but he won't think about that, either. Not until later. 

Will blinks when the car stops, hoping he wasn't in his head and silent for too long. The apartment complex is a bit worn, but not dilapidated. A ride to the fourth floor and then Hannibal is balancing soup-filled Tupperware and sorting through his key ring to unlock the door. 

He has a key. Will clears his throat. 

“Peter?” Hannibal calls as they step inside. 

It's only slightly smaller than a studio, the kitchen being walled off from the rest, and cleaner than Will's home. 

On the couch is a huddle of blankets, messy blonde hair and a black eye. His lip is split, his left cheek is purple, and Will knows the swelling will only be worse tomorrow. 

“Hi, Sir,” the boy -because that's what he is, a _boy_ , mid twenties, painfully slender frame and bright blue, red-rimmed eyes- whispers. 

He's _pretty_ , Will thinks, acidic and bitter for reasons he doesn't want to contemplate. 

Hannibal walks to him, somewhat briskly, total silence as he kneels in front of the shaking boy, food discarded to the side table. Hannibal's fingers press to broken lips, so lightly, Will feels like he should look away. Careful hands pull the blanket from the boy's bare shoulders, and Will sees more bruises, a few cuts. 

Hannibal still hasn't spoken, and Peter is looking down at him with watery eyes. Will watches Hannibal's jaw work, obvious tension as he pulls the blanket back up, lifts his eyes and finally speaks, voice soft but holding a note of authority Will has never heard from him. Will doesn't shiver. 

“Hello, boy. Have you eaten?” 

Peter shakes his head, curls bouncing and Will can see blood streaking through them. He hasn't showered. The officer in him remembers that's a good thing. 

“No, Sir, I'm sorry. I know your schedule for me but I ju-" 

“Hush,” Hannibal says fondly, pushing the boy’s hair out of his eyes as he stands. “I've brought soup, but I only mean for you to eat a portion, if you can. But you know I'll expect you to eat something before the day is out." 

“Yes, Sir, I promise,” he nods, then with a fresh round of tears, he slides to his knees at Hannibal's feet and rests his head on Hannibal's thigh, fingers gripping Hannibal's slacks. “I'm so happy you're here, Sir, I had no idea what he was gonna- he was vetted, I swear, I checked just like you taught me, and Brantley said he seemed like a good guy but then he-” 

He's in only boxer briefs, and nearly every inch of his pale skin is marked in one way or another. 

In one fluid motion, Hannibal has the boy in his arms, cradling him bridal style as he takes the seat the boy- Peter, just left, shushing him gently. 

Will does look away this time, the intimacy striking his core, a pang of jealousy and then a surge of disgust for himself. The- _Peter_ has been brutalized, and all Will has felt is envy toward him. It's not his fault that Will has always become attached to people and things and ideas too quickly, too intensely and without reciprocation. 

“This is my friend, Will. He was a police officer. I'd like you to talk to him.”

Will turns back when he hears his name, sees Peter has been shifted from Hannibal's lap to curl into his side, tears subsided once more. 

“Hi, Will.” 

“Hello, Peter,” Will says softly, slipping into the mindset he'd put away years ago, still easy enough to recall. “I'm sorry to be meeting you this way. Can you tell me what happened?" 

The story is much the same as all the others Will has heard, save for the finer details. They'd met at the club Peter -and, also, apparently, Hannibal- frequents, then came back to Peter's apartment. Originally, things were fine, then Tobias, or so the man called himself, tied Peter to the bed -acceptable, Will has to remind himself- and took a knife to him, first. He ignored Peter's safeword, and then the many hours of Peter crying for help. The knife gave way to a belt, and then eventually, fists, before Tobias raped Peter, with no protection. He cut the ropes and left Peter in his own blood.

By the time Peter stops, he's crying again and Hannibal has gone inhumanly still, expression blank as he stares straight ahead. 

Peter notices the change, too, and gently touches Hannibal's cheek, frowning. “Sir?” 

Hannibal's eyes fall shut as he exhales slowly, returning to a human posture then looking down at Peter. “Stop worrying about me, boy, that's my job.” 

The tone of Hannibal's voice, unable to be called anything but irrevocably loving, makes Will's chest tight. More so when Hannibal's voice is back to friendly when he looks at Will. 

“Your counsel is greatly appreciated, here, Will. What steps should we take? Peter is concerned that, given our lifestyle, nothing can, or rather, will be done.” 

Will understands, and if they'd been in Louisiana, he'd be equally concerned. Thankfully, they're not. 

“Peter, I think you should press charges. It was very clear you didn't consent to this. You mentioned him being vetted?" 

“Yes, Sir- ah, sorry, habit,” he blushes, and Will thinks his cheeks feel a bit hotter, too. “Yeah, the club runs background checks on everyone before giving them membership." 

“Then his name would be on file. Which means one of three things: someone at the club let him slip through, it's not his real identity, or he doesn't think what he did was wrong and had no reason to care that his information is available. There's the slight possibility he's just never been caught, but I can tell you this definitely isn't the first time he's done this.”

Peter's eyes well again and he buries his face in Hannibal's chest. Hannibal tightens his arms around him and murmurs things too low for Will to hear. 

Gently, and after Peter has calmed again, Will continues. “You haven't showered, which is extremely helpful, but every minute counts.” 

“Everyone will know,” Peter whispers, avoiding eye contact. “Everyone will know that I let this happen to-” 

“You didn't allow anything, Peter,” Hannibal interrupts firmly, tipping Peter's head back to look into his eyes. “You didn't _let him_. This despicable creature _forced_ , and that is no fault of yours.” 

“He'll do it again, Peter,” Will says softly, honestly. “He'll keep doing it until he's caught.” 

This part always made Will feel a little uneasy. It's essentially guilt-tripping a victim, playing to the horror of their trauma being inflicted on someone else. Will hates putting that level of responsibility on anyone, but that doesn't make it less true. 

“Let me take you to the police station,” Hannibal implores, an undercurrent of desperation. “Please. I'll stay with you the entire time." 

After a painfully long moment, Peter's nods, clinging tighter to Hannibal. 

“It's better to call them,” Will interjects. “They'll need to look at the- at the bed, the sheets. For evidence. There's going to be a lot of questions, Peter, some really invasive, but it's only to help you, okay?”

He just barely stopped himself from saying _crime scene_ , and is thankful the rest came out reassuringly, but Peter gulps at the realization, anyway. 

Once the call is made, Hannibal feeds -literally, _hand feeds_ , oh, my God- Peter some of the soup and then rewraps the blankets around him. The afternoon buzzes by for Will rather quickly, officer after officer after investigator pouring in and taking pictures and gathering fabrics. Will fills them in as much as he can, essentially shop talk in hopes of easing some of Peter's burden. Hannibal holds Peter the entire time, but stares at Will often, an unreadable expression on his face. When they tell them that Peter needs to have a rape kit done, Hannibal holds him tighter. 

“I'll drive you,” Hannibal tells Peter, no room for question. “Let's get you dressed.” 

Will walks out into the hallway of the complex and calls himself a cab, sagging against the wall. He's mentally exhausted, drained from the flurry of emotions he's felt all day and slipping back and forth from the mindset of Hannibal's submissive to that of a rapist. Rather than going back inside and interrupting, he types out a quick text to Hannibal, saying that he was going home and if Peter needs anything at all, or if Hannibal does, to call. 

_If you need anything_. Will meant it, and then felt embarrassed at all the ways he _meant_ it, while Hannibal would just assume he'd meant a sympathetic ear. 

Before Will can make it to the elevator, he hears his name being called and turns to see Hannibal jogging to catch up with him. 

As soon as he close enough, Hannibal pulls him into a hug. It's not awkward, like every other time Will has been hugged. Hannibal smells like masculinity and lavender and power as he holds tight just long enough for Will to finally leave behind shock and return the embrace. 

“Thank you,” Hannibal says heavily after he's pulled back, oblivious to how cold Will feels now. “I could not have convinced him without your presence. I can see now that you were an amazing officer.” 

Will blushes, curses silently at the blush, and looks down, shuffling as he thinks about how strong Hannibal's arms felt, then forces the thought away entirely. 

“Thanks. It's- really, I'm glad I could help.” 

“Peter is relocating to his parent's home upstate for the time being. I'm driving him up there tomorrow, but I'd love to cook dinner for you tomorrow night. A token of my appreciation.” 

Will swallows and nods, then swallows again when Hannibal smiles in that not-really-a-smile-but-his-eyes-do-that-thing way, and stares dumbly at Hannibal's retreating back. 

He'll think about the hug later, too. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dialogue heavy. Be prepared. 
> 
> This story jumped from five chapters to fifteen because Hannibal had plans I didn't foresee. Bastard.
> 
> Any and all errors are my own.

For the first time in many months, Will is nervous about going to Hannibal's house. He's brought a bottle of wine, though he's sure it will be nothing compared to what's already available.

Without contemplating why, he's clean-shaven, hair tamed and wearing a new shirt, a maroon button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and black pants.

Will knows that Hannibal will notice. He notices everything, and Will is generally unkempt. Maybe Will wants him to notice. Maybe he wants him to notice and like it. Maybe he wants him to notice and like it and _command_ Will to dress like this all the time.

So, maybe he’d contemplated a little.

With three slow breaths, he knocks. There's too much fidgeting as he waits, so he keeps breathing, trying to ignore the ridiculous feeling in the pit of his stomach. When the door opens, Hannibal smiles warmly, and the feeling intensifies.

“I'm early,” Will apologizes, shifting from one foot to the other.

Hannibal notices. It's quick, just the slightest up-down of his eyes, but it's there, and the smile widens immediately after. Will notices things, too.

“On the contrary, I was just about to start plating. Please, come in,” Hannibal says, stepping back to give room.

“Uh, I know it's not what you're used to, but-” Will lifts one shoulder as Hannibal takes the bottle from him.

“Nonsense. This is lovely, Will, thank you.”

There's soft music playing, classical, and the lights are mostly dim everywhere save for the kitchen, where it's almost painfully bright. Will's been here before, but never in this context, and never alone.

He stands uselessly as Hannibal returns to serving… something on plates that probably cost more than Will's house. He's wearing a white shirt with thin green stripes, and an apron -immaculate, of course- wrapped around his waist.

If Will didn't feel so painfully out of his element, he might take the time to enjoy how the shirt hugs the muscles of Hannibal's back when he grabs something from the fridge. Unfortunately, Will does feel painfully out of his element.

“I'd offer to help, but I don't think you'd want me to,” Will says, giving a wry smile.

“Not one for cooking, are you?” Hannibal asks, glancing up from garnishing with amused eyes.

“Oh, sure,” Will nods seriously. “As long as it's out of a box, in a packet, or can be microwaved. Well, except fish, I can do a number of things with fresh fish.”

“Then, you'll have to prepare fish for me one day,” Hannibal replies easily, pulling the cork from the wine Will brought. “If you'll have a seat in the dining room, I'll join you in just a moment.”

Will would much rather stay and continue watching Hannibal move freely about his kitchen. By nature, he seems at ease everywhere, but cooking, it seems, he's closest to the standard definition of happy. It makes that feeling in Will's stomach morph from nervous to something else entirely.

Will is admiring the artwork when Hannibal walks in, suit jacket replacing the apron, two dishes balanced on one arm and holding wine with the other. “Pork loin roulade with arugula pesto,” he presents. “I admit my trip upstate took longer than anticipated, so I didn't have time to prepare the meal I wished.”

Will chuckles as he takes his seat, admiring the edible artwork, this time. “If this is what you can do on a tight schedule, I can't imagine what you can do with a full day.”

“A great many things,” Hannibal smirks, though it's not really a smirk, more of a look with his eyes but the intent is clear enough to make Will's heart speed a little. Hannibal pours the wine, unbuttons his jacket and takes his seat.

“How is Peter?” Will asks genuinely. He knows too well that the coming weeks will be nearly as bad for Peter as the initial attack.

“Traumatized, but his spirit is intact.” Hannibal takes a sip of wine, and Will tries not to notice the way his throat works when he swallows. It's inappropriate, given the conversation. “I know the police were visiting the club today, and Peter knows to inform me as soon as he has any updates.”

“Hopefully, they'll catch a lead,” Will responds before cutting into the pork and taking a bite. It's divine, but he knew it would be. “This is amazing, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Hannibal gives that same warm smile, and Will's heart does that same jump at both the smile and the way Hannibal's accent wraps around the word _pleasure_ _._ “And what of your case?”

Will doesn't sigh but only because he's still focused on the thump, thump, thump of his heart. “Still processing evidence, but we won't find anything.  It was too clean. He's methodical, meticulous. In that the Chesapeake Ripper is methodical and meticulous, but this killer is angry. That's the difference.”

“Where does his anger stem from, Will?”

Hannibal has his therapist tone in place now, and Will doesn't like it as much as his happy-from-cooking and dinner-with-a-friend tone. The back and forth begins, Hannibal prodding Will's mind, Will allowing him to do so, cleaning plates and emptying glasses. Twice for Will, until he realizes any more will have him in a state, so he declines when Hannibal offers. But he's not nervous anymore, and he's not sure if that's a good thing.

Nerves create a filter where his social ineptness usually lives. They make him cautious and conscious of everything he thinks, and everything he wants to say before saying it. Nerves feel sick in his stomach but smart in his mind.

By the time Hannibal has brought out dessert- something Will couldn't repeat if he tried, but it has chocolate- Will's hair is messy from his own fingers and Hannibal's suit jacket is hanging on the back of a chair. Will can appreciate the shirt again, and the way it fits Hannibal's arms. Strong arms that had embraced Will tightly in a hug.

Will knows, _he knows_ , that Hannibal's lifestyle contributes to his build. He can see it, so clearly, saw it last night as he lied in bed and slipped his hand under the sheets, Hannibal wielding implements, painting stripes on pale skin, repetitive motions with a whip-flogger-belt that would make his bicep flex.

And as he stands next to Hannibal to wash dishes, _he knows_ those hands that hold fine China with the most gentle care can also deliver exquisite pain, delicious torture, smothering grips and clawing nails.

Will also knows that Hannibal's voice, his lips, his _tongue_ can do so much more than hold easy conversation with Will, but those thoughts bring a blush to Will's cheeks so he focuses on cleaning the wine glass instead.

“Still curious of the unknown, Will?”

There's no accusation in Hannibal's tone, no mockery, just a simple question in a simple voice. Will closes his eyes briefly as he shuts off the water, and after Hannibal has finished drying the last dish, he turns to face him.

“That obvious?”

“Your blush. I can smell it. It's made a few appearances tonight, at odd moments. Not including the times I've actually seen it.”

As if on cue, Will feels his cheeks heating again and can't help but wonder what other scents Hannibal picks up from him.

“Glad I'm not the only one with a strange talent.”

Hannibal's lips curl up just a fraction, and his eyes are gentle. “You still haven't answered my question.”

Will closes his eyes again and keeps them that way as he whispers, “Painfully.”

His blood pounds in his ears as silence envelops them and he's half hoping that Hannibal has left the room. When he can't take it any longer, he opens his eyes to see Hannibal an inch closer, staring at Will with an unreadable expression.

“Am I your psychiatrist, Will, or are we simply having conversations?”

“Nothing's ever been made official.”

“And your personal feelings?”

“I refer to you as my therapist in my head but that's mostly because I didn't know what else to call you.”

Hannibal tilts his head to the side slightly. “You wouldn't refer to me as your friend?”

Finally, once Will doesn't feel tethered to his spot by Hannibal's gaze, he steps back and scrubs his hands over his face. “I'm not sure if you're ready for this particular conversation.”

“I think you'd be surprised at how little surprises me.” Hannibal has moved to lean back against the sink, but his posture is still perfect.

“Probably not,” Will mutters, then sighs. “I think you take professionalism very seriously.”

Hannibal pauses. “You don't think of me as a friend because you think of me romantically.”

Will purses his lips and looks at his worn boots.

“Or, perhaps, just sexually.”

Will looks up quickly. “No, it's not - I mean, it is, but-” he gives up trying to explain because he's not sure he could. “Okay, _I'm_ not ready for this particular conversation.”

He feels ridiculous and embarrassed. Too much like a bumbling school boy that hasn't learned the importance of articulation yet. Further, he's self-conscious, more so than he has been all evening. He can dress himself up but he's still just an awkward mess that will never belong in Hannibal's kitchen or bed or life.

“Being unprepared can prevent exaggerations or omissions. You can't play a part if there's no script.”

“Look, I - Thank you for dinner, it really was very nice.” Will takes a step toward him, swallows, and then takes three steps back. “I understand it's typical policy to refer patients elsewhere but I think you know that effort would be wasted on me.”

“I can't refer you if I'm not your psychiatrist,” Hannibal says, closing the gap Will had just created with slow steps. His stare is unwavering, and Will tries not to squirm. “Now, answer my question properly.”

It's _that_  tone. The one he'd had with Peter. The one that makes Will's knees feel unsteady and brings back the thump, thump, thump of his heart.

His throat is too dry when he speaks, rough and just barely above a whisper. “You're not my psychiatrist.”

“Very well,” Hannibal replies after a moment, all proper manners as though Will isn't practically panting in the middle of his kitchen. He starts putting the clean dishes in their respective places. “A change in our conversations, then. We'll keep our same appointment time, of course. Unless you're concerned about becoming uncomfortable in my office?”

“I'm always uncomfortable in your office. Comes with the territory,” Will admits, slightly strangled and his nerves are back full force. His shoulders roll forward, curling into himself as if to hide.

“I like you uncomfortable, so allow me to rephrase. Could continuing in my office become unbearable?”

He _likes_ Will uncomfortable. The lick of heat that sends through Will's stomach and down his spine is nearly too much, so he buries his face in his hands again and takes a deep breath. When he looks back up, Hannibal is watching him, and Will thinks he looks slightly amused, but his eyes are dark. Will can't trust his voice so he shakes his head.

“Good. Then I will see you Wednesday, Will. Thank you so much for coming this evening.”

As Hannibal walks him to the door, Will's legs feel heavy, like weights attached to his ankles. He's not sure if he imagines the ghost of a hand at the small of his back, but he'll pretend it's real, anyway.

How Hannibal keeps his composure, giving warm goodbyes, Will will never know. He feels like his heart is in his throat, even still as he drives back to Wolf Trap, and his mind is racing. By the time he's home, he wonders if the last half of their conversation was something he hallucinated.

Maybe it's simply to torture Will. He can't fathom that Hannibal would be actually interested in him. Not when Hannibal can have pretty boys like Peter under him.

_Under him_. God. Will squirms at the thought.

Sleep comes easy, but only after Will's hands have roamed and his imagination is nearly at its limit with all the things Will conjures up.

**

He nearly talks himself out of it. Four times, he paced from the kitchen to his living room, phone in hand, ready to call Hannibal and say he couldn't make it. Explain that he wasn't himself at dinner and that he didn't think continuing their conversations was a good idea.

But in the end, the thought of not seeing Hannibal anymore bothered him more than his nerves.  When he gets to Hannibal's office, he takes slow, deliberate breaths as he climbs the stairs, trying to ease the sick feeling in his stomach.

It's ridiculous, and he hates it. He hates being this awkward and uncomfortable all the time. He just wants to feel normal. A quiet mind and the ability to speak without wishing he could crawl under a rock and hide.

But that's not Will, and he's begrudgingly accepted his fate. This evening is going to be terrible, Will knows it, and by the time it's all said and done, Hannibal will usher Will out with cordial goodbyes and an excuse as to why he can't see him anymore.

Will knows he'll miss him.

There's another brief moment, as he stands in the waiting room, that he almost leaves. Instead, he forces himself to knock.

“Hello, Will. Please, come in.”

It's the same greeting, every time, and this one is no different. Will thinks it _should_ be different because he _feels_ different. This isn't just walking into his therapist’s office, no, he's there to explore things. Sexual things, possibly romantic things.

Will's heart pounds and he wonders, again, how Hannibal can stay so composed.

“You look drained,” Hannibal says as they both take their respective seats.

“Anticipation is tiring,” Will sighs, rubbing his eyes briefly. “I know Jack will be calling soon.”

“Uncle Jack, dragging you back into darkness,” Hannibal remarks, crossing one leg over the other.

“If only serial killers could be better at hiding bodies,” Will mutters, only to regret it the moment it leaves his mouth.

Hannibal's eyes crinkle with amusement and he tilts his head slightly. “Instead of simply not killing at all?”

“Or that.”

“Mm. Or that.” Will can practically see Hannibal file that away for later dissection. “Is the unavoidable call from Jack all you were anticipating?”

So, this is it, then. The transition. The moment their conversations become something else. If he could breathe properly, Will might be able to pull up some false bravado, or at the very least, pretend he's not terrified that he'll turn Hannibal off.

Will shakes his head, taking a deep breath as he runs his palms over the leather of the chair.

“Are you nervous, Will?”

“I'm more confused, I think,” Will admits, standing up in attempt to walk some of the energy from his legs.

“Where does your confusion lie?”  

“It's just…” Will circles the chair, looking for the right words. They never seem to come. “Why?” When Hannibal cocks his head again, Will swallows and tries to elaborate. “This isn't your job. You're taking time that could be spent with a legitimate patient. What would you get out of this?”

The last part sounds like an accusation, and Will wants to take it back because now Hannibal has to answer and Will will have to hide his disappointment until he can slip out the door.

The silence is deafening as Hannibal stares at him, wearing a blank expression until Will has to look at the floor.

When Hannibal speaks again, his voice is warm, less clinical than before. “You have an unfounded thought that you're undesirable.”

Will cringes and resumes his slow placing. “In terms of you, yes.”

“You believe that you could be wanted, but not by me,” Hannibal states plainly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Yes.”

“Have I given you reason to think this?”

“No, it's…. It's a logical conclusion,” Will shrugs, taking his seat again and mirroring Hannibal's position. “I'm a wreck. I'm barely able to tell if I'm sane from day to day, let alone have my life together. That's me. And you're… you.”

“I've often found myself attracted to chaos,” Hannibal says easily.

“Chaos and chaotic people are not the same thing.”

“Fair enough,” Hannibal concedes with a single nod. “Nevertheless, I am attracted to you. Chaos included. I think our conversations can improve drastically if you accept that as fact.”

Will tries not to fidget, he really does. He tries to match Hannibal's cool demeanor and not portray himself as some lovesick teenager. Hannibal's admission, how casually it was said, makes his heart pound.  

It takes two deep breaths before Will can respond, and thankfully, his voice is steady. “I can't promise not to question it. Or wonder why. Or feel concern that it will change.”

“Very well,” Hannibal smiles, just with his eyes, of course, before continuing. “Another thing that I believe will help this go smoother is if we agree to honesty with one another. If either of us become uncomfortable, we'll say so, and the conversation stops there. Agreeable?”

Will licks his lips and nods, heart rate spiking again at the possibility of questions to be asked. He knows that he'll tell Hannibal anything, and that's both terrifying and invigorating.

“Agreeable.”

“Wonderful. When you masturbate, what do you imagine?”

Will rolls his shoulders and tries desperately not to blush. He's an adult, he should be able to talk about this without embarrassment. Even with the man he's attracted to.

Honesty. Complete and total honesty, that's what he promised.

“Before you or after you?” He asks, looking down at his lap because he can pep talk himself for days but eye contact isn't something he's capable of right now.

“I admit I'm curious to hear your fantasies that include me, but there's time for that. Before me. Before you discovered my proclivities.”

“You think I could be reading you and adopting your wants,” Will realizes, slouching back in the chair. “My empathy disorder is severe but, no. Before you, when I did indulge in anything other than necessary release, I thought of… being under someone.”

“Someone?”

“Gender was irrelevant.”

Hannibal pauses, then blinks. “I see. Did they hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Will exhales slowly and rubs his hand over his mouth for a moment. “With… with tools. Sometimes knives.”

“Did they sodomize you?”

Hannibal's tone is clinical again and Will wonders if it's a defense mechanism. His way of hiding what he's feeling. Will briefly wishes he had that capability.

It's a whisper. “Yes.”

“Were there other people in the room?” Hannibal asks, but his voice is just a notch lower.

Will closes his eyes and reminds himself of honesty. “Sometimes.”

That's not technically a lie, to downplay how often he thinks of being used for an audience. Just the mention of it has his skin peeked with goosebumps.

“You enjoy being objectified,” Hannibal intones. Will opens his eyes to see Hannibal staring back at him, continuing, “It stems from your feelings of being unwanted. What else?”

“Sometimes they…” Will blushes again, and very nearly squirms. “They'd… humiliate me. Make me beg for things.”

“You exhibit classic submissive behavior. I'll admit, I'm somewhat surprised. Pleasantly, but surprised, nonetheless.”

Will smiles slightly, unwilling to admit that he likes surprising Hannibal. _Pleasantly_. It tugs at something in his chest.

Will clears his throat, sitting up straight again. “What about you? How did you find your way into this?”

“I knew from a young age that traditional sex held little interest for me. When I was in my twenties, I met a man that helped me explore and learn. A teacher, for all intents and purposes.”

Well wishes for a moment he'd been so lucky. Perhaps if he were not so embarrassingly inexperienced, this would be easier. If he could be like Peter, so confident in his submission, maybe he wouldn't feel so out of place.

“I enjoy the ceremony of it most, I think,” Hannibal muses, eyes still trained on Will. “The BDSM community is beautifully intricate. You'll never find two Dominants or two submissives that are exactly alike.”

“And what are you like?” Will asks quietly.

“Strict, but not unkind. I'm a sadist, I expect obedience and I have little patience for brats. I enjoy total power exchange in a daily setting.”

Will swallows, feeling his cock thicken between his legs. “Meaning, you… own your submissive, essentially.” He refuses to sound as breathless as he feels.

“Essentially. Even when we're not together, I have rules they must follow. My collar must be earned, and it's not an easy task. I haven't collared a submissive in nearly ten years.”

“You're hard to please. I'm not surprised.”

“I think I should be offended,” Hannibal smirks, leaning forward. “On the contrary, I'm quite easy to please. Do as I say, without question, and I'll give you the world.”

_The world_. Will squirms, he can't help it. He scrubs his palms over his thighs as the movement creates friction on his cock, praying it's not noticeable.

“So, can I ask what you're… into?” Another blush, and Will looks down again. “Besides the ceremony.”

Hannibal crosses his legs again, and Will follows the movement, licking his lips as the fabric tightens around Hannibal's thighs.

“As I said, I'm a sadist. Pain for pleasure. Objectification, humiliation. Debauchery. Public scenes.” He pauses, eyes dancing. “You look overwhelmed.”

“Public scenes?” Will chokes.

Will is nearly positive he could come right now. There's so many images in his head, so many thoughts of Hannibal showing off his skills, Will on the receiving end while faceless bodies watch.

“Yes. The club I frequent is equipped for a number of scenarios. I perform demonstrations twice a month, as well.

“What kind?”

“It depends. They've had a few requests for a demonstration with the bullwhip, so I'll be accommodating that this weekend. I'm one of the only Dominants in our area that can wield it properly.”

Will is pretty sure he doesn't moan, but he pushes his fist against his stomach to relieve the pressure he feels building.

“That's intense,” he breathes.

“A bullwhip can bruise organs if not used correctly,” Hannibal says coolly.

It's too much. He can't speak because if he opens his mouth, he'll moan. Possibly beg. His cock is so hard, it aches.

“Are you curious what it feels like, Will?” Hannibal asks, voice too low, almost intimate. It makes Will ache even more.

“So much,” Will whispers, eyes clenched shut.

“It is, quite possibly, the worst pain I've ever felt. The initial burst is cold, like ice, and then the fire settles in, and you wonder if you'll ever have the ability to breathe properly again. It's such an extreme level of pain, that I won't give more than five strokes at a time.”

“Oh, God.” Will buries his face in his hands, desperate to touch his cock, to ease the pain and have Hannibal force him to endure it for hours.

There's a heavy silence, and Will takes a dozen calming breaths. When Hannibal speaks again, it's with something resembling hope.

“Would you like to accompany me this weekend? It could be rather enlightening for you.”

Will looks up sharply, gulping. “I'm completely out of my element here. I've never- I'm concerned I'd embarrass you.”

It'd be a disaster. Will can just imagine how pathetic he'd look showing up to something like that, and with Hannibal, no less.

“You couldn't, regardless of setting,” Hannibal says firmly, and it makes warmth spread through Will's limbs. “But if it makes it easier, you'll get a bracelet to let others know you're only an observer.”

“I feel like that'd be a bit redundant,” Will chuckles. “I don't imagine many people would be willing to step on your toes.”

Hannibal smiles. “No, I don't imagine so.” There's a pause as he looks at the clock, lips pursed before he sighs. “It's getting late.”

“Yeah,” Will nods, trying not to sound disappointed as they both stand. He stops just before he reaches the door and says softly, “I'll go, if you're sure you- it'll be okay.”

Hannibal is standing by his desk and he looks pleased, truly pleased, and Will decides he wants him to look like that all the time. “Wonderful. Meet me here at seven on Saturday.”

It's _that_   tone again, the one that makes Will want to drop to his knees. It's not a question, it's not a request. It's a command.

“The expected attire for submissives is relatively lax, but the attire that I expect for my submissives is not, and though you are not my submissive yet, you will be at my side. Therefore, I'll be sending you something to wear.”

_Yet_. That little word shouldn't shift Will's world on its axis, shouldn't make his hands shake, but it does. Then, the rest of the sentence hits Will and he blushes hard, swallowing thickly as he looks at his shoes and nods. Hannibal closes the space between them, and though the height difference is minimal, the close proximity and the feel of Hannibal's stare makes Will feel very, very small.

“This isn't the reaction I expected,” Hannibal says, amusement clear in his tone, and something darker that Will doesn't have a name for. “I was preparing for an argument.”

Will can't meet his eyes but shakes his head. “No argument. I- I appreciate it.”

Hannibal places one finger under Will's chin and gently lifts, forcing eye contact. “You like it,” Hannibal corrects softly.

Will takes a shuddering breath, lost in a the sea of Hannibal's amber eyes. “I like it.”

He strokes Will's cheek bone with his thumb. “That's certainly something I'd like to explore further.”

His voice is low, a deep rumbling that crushes every wall in Will's mind and fills his cock. He's dizzy with want. With numb fingers, Will grasps the lapels of Hannibal's jacket, swaying slightly.

“ _Please_.”

Hannibal's eyes slip closed, and the silence grows between them. Will is all but shaking. Hannibal exhales slowly before opening his eyes again and murmuring. “You're devastating to my self control.”

“Hannibal…” Will can't say what he wants, he doesn't know how to verbalize it. He just wants. Anything Hannibal would give.

He leans into Will's neck as his hands move to Will's sides, slipping down to grip his waist. “When you touch yourself tonight, think of me,” he breathes hotly against Will's ear.

Moaning softly, Will clutches Hannibal's coat tighter, praying that he won't fall. “I always do.”

Hannibal's fingers tighten on Will’s waist briefly, humming in his throat before his touch disappears entirely. Will fights the urge to whine.

Hannibal kisses his cheek gently. “Until Saturday.”

Will exhales shakily and nods, feeling slightly dazed. It's another moment before his legs start working again, and he doesn't look back as he walks away because he know if he does, he'll hit his knees and beg for Hannibal.

When he gets home, he says a quick hello to the dogs and he's barely in the bathroom before he's unbuckling his jeans and slipping his hand inside.

It feels like he's been hard for days, and every touch sets his nerves alight. He could come, right this second, but he knows Hannibal would make him wait. He'd force him to go faster, squeeze tighter, pull harder and _don't come_.

His back hits the door and his hand tightens around the base of his cock, a groan leaving his lips as his phone vibrates in his pocket. He's too breathless to answer so he pulls it out to silence it, then grips his cock tighter when he sees the name.

“Thinking of me, Will?” Hannibal murmurs as soon as Will answers.

Whimpering, Will curls forward and tries so hard not to come at the rough silk of Hannibal's voice. He's panting, and knowing that Hannibal can hear, that he's listening to Will's desperation makes his cheeks hot.

“Imagining yourself at my feet?”

“ _Oh_ … It's… You telling me I can't come. Making me- making me beg for it only to tell me I can't.”

“Shall I?” Hannibal asks, barely above a whisper. “Forbid you from finding your own pleasure until I deem it so?”

“Oh, God,” Will breathes, stroking himself quickly, focusing the head. “Sir.”

Just saying it makes his head spin, pleasure coiling rapidly in his stomach as his back arches.

There's two beats of silence. “Come, boy.” Hannibal says roughly.

Will sees stars behind his eyes. His legs shake as heat ropes thick across his shirt and drips down his fingers, moaning loudly. Clutching the phone tight enough to make his hand ache, he pants heavily, chest heaving as he sags against the door.

“Until Saturday, Will. Sleep well.” The phone disconnects.

Later, when he's curled in bed, his cock feels raw as he strokes himself off for the third time. When he comes, it's with Hannibal's name behind his teeth and that purr of the word _boy_. **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been a submissive for nearly ten years, so I'm excited to finally write a fic about a world I actually know few things about! All comments are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

It's not until the package arrives that Will realizes he's going on a date. _A date_. He's not sure he's ever been on one, not properly, anyways.

The boxes are impeccable, of course, white with black ribbons tied across the center of each. One is much smaller than the other, and Will takes a deep breath when he realizes it's probably holding jewelry of some sort. He almost doesn't want to open them, shoo-ing Winston away with a pat to his head. With shaking fingers, he gently pulls the bow from the larger box and lifts the lid.

He's not sure what he was expecting. Leather, maybe, something stereotypical. Certainly not the sleek black turtleneck, so soft he's tempted to press his face to it, or the white tweed slacks. The pants are cuffed, to show off the shiny black Oxford’s that sit in the bottom of the box. There's even black socks.

Reverently, he puts them back in place. His breath comes quicker as he moves to the second box. When he opens it, he has to sit quickly, knees all but knocking as he studies the piece of art in his hands.

It's a chain, but not the color of metal. Each link alternates from black to white, and when Will holds it up, it's softer than steel. Still hard, but whatever it is made from could be malleable.

Will sits on his bed for a long moment, holding it, struggling to believe that's it's real and meant for him. It is, without a doubt, the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for him.

Once he returns the chain to its box, he pulls out his phone to send a text.

_Thank you for my gifts._

It feels odd to text someone like Hannibal. Handwritten letters seem far more appropriate. It's only two minutes before he gets a reply.

_They are just as much for me as they are for you._

Will blushes hard, a knot of nerves forming in his stomach.

 _Don't get your hopes up. I’ll probably look ridiculous_.

He will, he knows it. The clothes are too nice. They'd look perfect on Hannibal, but you can only dress up the awkward mess that is Will Graham so much, and even then, he wouldn't say he looks nice. Merely less disheveled.

 _You'll look stunning, I've no doubt. Tomorrow at seven_.

 _I won't be late_.

When he tries them on, he's both fascinated and not at all surprised that everything fits perfectly. Standing in the mirror, he sees his scruffy jaw and ridiculous hair, wondering again how Hannibal could possibly be interested.

He doesn't try on the chain. He's not sure he could handle it.

**

Will's decided that he'll be disgusting thankful if he ever reaches a point that he's not nervous about knocking on Hannibal's door. He's terrified, if he's honest with himself. It's possible that Hannibal will open the door, take one look at Will -he's clean shaven and his hair is combed- and realize the truth. That Will could never measure up to anyone Hannibal's ever been with.

The chain that rests around his neck -Hannibal had made sure to tell him that he wanted it visible, outside of the turtleneck- feels heavy and ridiculous. Jewelry isn't meant for people like Will. _None_ of this is meant for people like Will.

The feeling is only intensified when Hannibal opens the door. He's not wearing a full suit, much to Will's surprise but, oh, this is so much better. A button down dress shirt, slacks, vest and tie, all black. The shirt fits tightly, hugging his broad shoulders. His hair falls gently across his forehead, rather than slicked.

“Wow,” Will breathes, embarrassingly inelegant but he can't stop staring. Hannibal is fucking gorgeous.

Hannibal isn't smiling. Slowly, his eyes roam over Will, long enough for Will to blush and shift uncomfortably. Finally, he steps forward, mere inches away.

“You look devastatingly beautiful,” he murmurs lowly. “Ravishing.”

The depth of his words twist in Will's gut, heat settling in his spine as he licks his lips. Idly, it occurs that he's never truly wanted to be kissed. He's done it, it was nice, but when it was over, it wasn't something he'd thought of later. He knows, without a doubt, if Hannibal kisses him, he'll never stop thinking about it.

Hannibal exhales, and Will can feel it on his lips. “I did cook something light for dinner, if you'd like to eat.”

With the tightness in his stomach, he's not sure if he could, but he nods anyway.

Luckily, conversation over dinner -some type of salad that isn't anything like any salad Will has ever tried- is easy. It usually is with Hannibal; he doesn't expect anything. It's not like talking to strangers, who expect smiles and small talk. Or talking to Alana, who struggles terribly with not picking Will's brain when that's all she wants to do. Or Jack, who's all business and little else.

Talking with Hannibal is the only time Will _doesn't_ feel socially awkward, even when they're talking about uncomfortable things, like darkness or sex, or both.

Hannibal drives them, of course, but unlike the last time, Will's clothes match the quality of the Bentley, even if he doesn't. In the close quarters of the car, he can smell Hannibal's cologne, and Will thinks he'd like to taste its bitterness as he licks at Hannibal's skin.

Will's never felt so touch-starved before, or so desperate for sexual release. From the moment Hannibal admitted his interest, Will has been eaten up with desire, barely able to concentrate on anything other than Hannibal's arms and hands and lips.

Then Hannibal looks at him like _that_ , like Will is something otherworldly and it makes him feel things that are beyond desire and lust, things he doesn't have a name for.

When they pull into the parking lot, Will's throat tightens up with anxiety. The building is massive, but innocuous. It looks like a warehouse of some sort and there's no sign.

“I feel as though I should warn you before we step in here,” Hannibal says once they're out of the car. “It's been a rather long time since I've brought anyone with me. We're likely to be the topic of conversation.”

“This is an increasingly bad idea,” Will mutters, shifting from foot to foot. “You've been warned that I'm terrible in social situations, right?”

“Fear not, I'll handle the majority of inquires. Though, I've seen you in social situations and I think you handled yourself beautifully. The responses you formulate are almost always surprising. Shall we?”

Will takes a deep breath and nods, then takes a step closer to Hannibal. Guiding Will by his elbow, Hannibal leads them inside.

Much like his outfit, it's not at all what Will was expecting. He anticipated a dungeon, chains and people stuck in cages hanging from the ceiling.Any number of ridiculous stereotypes.

It looks more like a gentlemen's club. The lighting is low, but not terribly so, with chandeliers dangling every few feet. There's tables covered with white cloth, three long rows, each surrounded by semi-circle, high back booths. On one end is a bar, and Will is sure he's never seen so much liquor in his life, while the opposite end is a stage.

Across the large room is a staircase, grand and winding, leading to a hallway that wraps around the top of the building. Will counts seven doors from where he stands, and he assumes the scenarios Hannibal mentioned takes place in those rooms.

“Good evening, Dr. Lecter.”

“Good evening, Franklyn, I'll need a black band for my friend Will, please.”

Franklyn nods and pulls out a wristband from under his counter, snaps it around Will's wrist, then looks back to Hannibal. He pulls out a red band.

“Will he be drinking tonight?”

Something tugs at Will's chest. Franklyn didn't even look at him as he asked, and the implication was blatantly clear that Hannibal should be the one to make the decision for him. Like Will is _his_ to decide for.

That feeling only grows when Hannibal answers smoothly, “No, just water with lemon, please. We'll not be dining, either.”

“Certainly, Sir, your drinks will be along shortly.” The red band goes back under the counter.

“Thank you, Franklyn.”

Hannibal's hand is warm on Will's elbow, even through the sweater, as Hannibal walks him to a table in the far corner, nearest the stage.

Will is counting the doors above them again when Hannibal takes a seat on the other end of the booth.

“Not what you expected?”

Will shakes his head, trying not to fidget. He'd hate to wrinkle his pants. “Not at all. But it's better.”

“Better than the dark dungeon littered with chains and screaming victims,” Hannibal smiles. “Yes, I should hope so.”

“That's eerie. How you read my mind like that,” Will chuckles.

“It's only fair. You're the only person that can accurately read my emotions, regardless of what I'm portraying.”

Before Will can reply, a waiter brings two glasses to their table. He's heavy-set with long brown hair, and a thick, black collar around his neck.

“Your drinks, Dr. Lecter.”

“Thank you, Alec. This is my friend, Will.”

“I'd shake your hand but my Dom has me on a no-touching rule for two weeks,” he sighs, hanging his head a little. “It's good to meet you.”

“You, too,” Will nods, still trying to process the words and situation. Forbidden from touching? Why? And at all? Anyone?

Will is painfully curious, and painfully inexperienced.

“Punishment?” Hannibal asks, tilting his head in that way he does, the way that makes Will want to kiss him for unexplainable reasons.

“Yes, Sir. To teach me to keep my hands to myself when I'm told.”

“Ah,” Hannibal purses his lips. “Well, I know Jesse is working tonight, but I'll be sure to call him and let him know you were on your best behavior.”

Alec smiles wide, running his fingers through his hair. “Thank you, Sir, I appreciate that. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Will takes a sip of his water, glancing around the room. There's chatter, a collective conversation from various points in the room. The booths around them are scattered with people, and a group has gathered in front of the stage.

In the booth directly across from them is a couple, one sitting at the table eating while the other is on his hands and knees under it, tongue pressed to the shoe of the other man.

Will watches as the man sitting lifts his other foot and presses it to the middle of the slighter man's back, arching him further. Despite the noise around them, Will couldn't mistake the moan that comes from under the table.

He closes his eyes, trying to wish away the hardening of his cock, trying not to imagine trading places with the man on his knees.

“Boot worship,” Hannibal says, and Will looks up to see him studying Will with dark eyes. “Is that something that interests you?”

“Apparently,” Will breathes, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “I've never seen it until now. I- yes, I'm interested.”

Hannibal leans back, running the tip of his pointer finger around the rim of his glass, and he's quiet just long enough for Will to look down at his lap.

“It's been quite sometime since I've had the opportunity, or even the want to teach,” Hannibal starts softly. “Everything is so new to you, each sensation and activity overwhelming.”

Will sighs and takes another sip of his water, briefly wishing it was something stronger. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. The spoken knowledge that he's out of his league and nothing at all what Hannibal is used to. It'll get tiring. Maybe Hannibal is already regretting this.  

Will is all but ready to call himself a cab when Hannibal murmurs, “It's intoxicating.”

Sharply, Will looks up, both incredulous and excited at Hannibal's admission. If he's honest with himself, he wishes he'd been closer so he could've felt those words against his skin. So he could touch Hannibal and remind himself that this moment is real.  

Hannibal clears his throat lightly. “Brace yourself.”

“Sir!”

Will turns his head to see a younger man practically skipping across the room, beaming with a huge smile on his face. He is, without a doubt, the closest to nude he's seen anyone here so far, wearing only small, black leather shorts and -God, Will nearly squirms again- nipple clamps.

“When Alec said someone new was at your table, I nearly fell over and _then_ he tells me he's got on a black band. I thought I was gonna pass out. I'm Gabriel,” he exclaims brightly, thrusting a small hand toward Will.

“Good evening, Gabriel.” Hannibal sounds exasperated, but his eyes are smiling. “It's a shame that, tonight of all nights, you're not on a leash.”

“Oh, no, I had to come see the fresh meat,” Gabriel grins, all but bouncing.

Will feels a smile tugging at his lips even as he blushes. The energy radiating off of Gabriel is palpable and Will wishes again that he could adopt an easy personality like that.

Hannibal crosses his arms over his chest. “You may not be mine but I'll still bend you over my knee, brat.”

“Promise?” Gabriel smirks, fluttering his lashes.

“This is Will. Will, as you heard, this is Gabriel, the prime example of what a submissive should not be.”

He tips his head Will's direction before Hannibal finishes speaking, then Gabriel clutches his chest dramatically. “How you wound me, Sir!”

“I will. Now run along, boy, before you spend the evening deaf, blind and posed as my foot stool,” Hannibal replies, tugging at one of the clamps on Gabriel's nipples.

If anything, Gabriel only looks aroused, rather than contrite, but he bounces onto his toes and kisses Hannibal's cheek before running off. “I'll see you later, Will!”

“I would apologize, Will, but I think that would start a trend I'd have to keep up for the rest of the evening. It's likely to be worse after the demonstration is over. He's a menace.”

It's that fond tone again and Will wants Hannibal to sound that way about him. Will wants a lot of things, like maybe spending the evening deaf, blind and posed as Hannibal's foot stool. Wants the biting pain of those clamps and Hannibal's fingers twisting them.

Will feels overheated, sweat gathering at the base of his spine so he pushes the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows and finishes his water.

“How I wish I truly had the ability to read your mind,” Hannibal smirks, voice low. “Your thoughts alone could sustain me for days, I think.”

“My thoughts could get me into serious trouble tonight,” Will mutters, fidgeting under Hannibal's intense stare. “So, the rooms… upstairs?”

“Would you like a tour?”

With a deep breath, Will nods, feeling his stomach tighten with nerves as they stand. Hannibal leads them back to Franklyn’s station.

“Can you tell me what rooms are occupied at the moment, please?”

“Uh,” Franklyn runs his fingers down an open log book. “Rooms nine and thirteen are currently in use, Sir.”

Hannibal gives a curt nod. “Let me use that key set of yours, Franklyn, I'm giving Will the grand tour.”

They make their way for the stairs, and this time, Hannibal's hand is on the small of Will's back. Warm, gentle pressure that Will feels everywhere. As they climb, Will knows that people are staring, and a part of him wants them too. Some possessive thing buried in his gut that wants Gabriel and any other boy that looks at Hannibal with wanting eyes to _see_. Instinctively, he presses just an inch closer to Hannibal as they reach the top, and the slow exhale Hannibal releases gives Will goosebumps.

“There's fourteen rooms, total. The first seven on the left are simply overnight rooms, stocked with basic implements, beds and private bathrooms. The other seven are specialty rooms.”

Will steps into the first one. It's larger than he'd thought it would be. The corner is filled with large, decorative pillows, of all different colors. The walls are draped in plush, purple fabric and in the center of the room is a throne, beaded with jewels.

“The throne room,” Hannibal supplies. “When men wish to be kings and boys wish to be concubines.”

The next room is much like what Will expected the entire club to be. The walls are white, but nearly every piece of furniture is black. There's a large kennel in each corner, a sex swing -Will flushes- hanging from the ceiling, and a rack of various tools that Will can't even name. Against the back wall is a restraint system of some sort, in the shape of an ‘X.’

Hannibal doesn't say anything this time and Will is sure it's because he can hear Will's breathing change. Unlike in the throne room, Will actually walks around, taking in and trying to process each item through a haze of lust.

He runs his fingers over the tools on the rack, pressing his thumb against the sharp point of one in particular.

When Hannibal speaks, he's much closer than Will realized. “A barbed wire flogger. Made specifically with the intent to draw blood.”

“Have you- you know how to use this?” Will whispers, forcing himself not to lean back into Hannibal's warmth.

“I do.”

Will can see it, _feel_ it as he wraps his hands around the strands of metal, imagines the biting pain in his palm on his back, Hannibal delivering the blows. Dragging his finger through bloody welts and then slipping that same finger into Will's mouth. **  
**

Will moves away, because if he doesn't, he's going to beg for it and even through his daze, he knows he's not ready for that. But, God, how he wants it.

“A St. Andrew’s cross,” Hannibal murmurs, right behind Will again as he inspects the cuffs at the top.

Will swallows hard when Hannibal's hands slide up his ribs, under his arms to lift them up, then gripping Will's wrists as they rest inside the open restraints.

“Your arms locked here,” Hannibal says, voice low and dark in Will's ear. The entire length of him is pressed against the entire length of Will. “Your ankles cuffed at the bottom. It leaves nearly every inch of you bare to me, so that I may do as I wish.”

Will moans, eyes falling shut as he rests his head against the cross. Hannibal isn't holding him anymore but his arms stay in place and involuntarily, his back arches. He moans again when he feels Hannibal thick behind him.

Suddenly, Will is being spun and shoved back into the cross, Hannibal's lips pressed against his. The kiss is hungry, all tongue and teeth, and Hannibal's hands cinch tightly at Will's waist. For the handful of times Will has kissed anyone, nothing has ever felt like this, like he's being devoured. Groaning, he clutches at Hannibal's sides. With a quick shift, Hannibal's thigh nudges between Will's and he can't stop himself from grinding his cock against the muscle.

Hannibal bites Will's bottom lip, hard, panting slightly. “If I did not have prior obligations, boy, I'd have you here, this moment.”

Will is dizzy, breathless, so hard it fucking hurts and he wants it to hurt more. He wants Hannibal to tear into his flesh and leave marks all over him. He wants to walk back down stairs with tears still on his cheeks and a sleepy grin, and let everyone see that Hannibal has him.

Hannibal _tastes_ like dominance, heady and delicious on Will's tongue. His back arches off the cross as he grinds harder, shamelessly rutting against Hannibal's thigh. He could come like this, filthy in his new slacks that Hannibal bought just for him. Then, Hannibal digs his fingers into Will's hips and _moves_ him harder, faster, like he wants the very thing Will was just thinking.

Suddenly, a loud buzzing fills the room, immediately followed by Hannibal's groan. Will clings tighter when Hannibal eases his fingers from Will's waist, desperate to keep this moment in time. When the buzzing happens again, Hannibal tears himself from Will with a growl, and for a second, Will thinks he might come from that sound alone.

Hannibal walks briskly to a box on the wall, taking a deep breath before he pushes a button and says, not at all patiently, “There _is_ a clock in here, Alistair, I'm well aware of the time.”

“Ten minutes, Hannibal. Get downstairs and entertain these people before I drink myself into a coma.”

Will is nearly sure he must've hallucinated that. He'd never heard anyone speak that way to Hannibal, and can't even fathom Hannibal just taking it in stride.

Hannibal places both palms on the wall and hangs his head between his shoulders, taking a slow breath before standing straight again, rolling his neck and correcting his posture once more. When he turns to look at Will, his eyes are still dark, but his breathing has calmed.

“Did I happen to mention that you're devastating to my self control?”

Will has to smile even as he blushes, walking toward Hannibal. “You may have said something like that, yeah.”

He feels happy, a little lightheaded, and like he could kiss Hannibal for eternity. For the moment, he's not nervous, so he takes advantage and presses close, nuzzling Hannibal's neck.

“I suppose we'll have to finish the grand tour later?”

“You won't make it past this room if I get you back up here tonight,” Hannibal murmurs, sliding his hands down Will's back.

“That'd be okay, you know,” Will informs him, words mumbled against Hannibal's jaw. He pulls back to look into Hannibal's eyes. “It's pretty clear I'm interested. I'm not- you don't have to court me.”

Hannibal becomes very still, save for his fingers digging into Will's lower back, and he's silent for a few long moments. His expression goes from utterly blank - _blank_ , like he had no idea what human emotions were at all -to nearly pained before he speaks again.

“It's dangerous, giving a man exactly what he wants,” his voice is dark, enough that Will isn't sure if he's shivering from arousal or fear.

There's absolutely no distance between them as they walk back downstairs, Hannibal pulling Will into his side with a hand on Will's hip. The dining room has filled with people, and Will feels the bloom of pride in chest from the knowing looks they're being given.

Before they've even taken the last step, Will feels a small hand embrace his.

“May I sit with Will while you’re on stage, Sir?” Gabriel asks, that same bright smile on his face.

“Can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself?” Hannibal counters with a pointed look.

“I promise to remember that he's wearing a black band,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Plus, Master will be here any moment!”

“Very well, boy, at my table. First, tell Franklyn I need room eight sanitized.”

“Oh my God, did you-” Gabriel quickly ends his sentence when Hannibal gives him a hard stare, and Will decides he doesn't ever want to be on the receiving end of that look. “Yes, Sir, thank you!”

“I apologize if you'd rather sit alone,” Hannibal says softly, caressing Will's knuckles with his thumb. “But it will give me peace of mind that someone I trust will be with you while I'm not.”

Will immediately understands why. This is where Peter had met his attacker. Someone vetted and who’d passed all the necessary checks, and still turned out to be a monster.

There's this sharp feeling in Will's chest, bright and warm. It makes him step closer to Hannibal, and lightly grip his forearms for balance. Will wants to crawl into that feeling and live there forever.

“Will you kiss me again?”

Hannibal smiles that way again, with his eyes only, and leans in close. “After,” he whispers, nearly touching Will's lips with his own.

Will is pretty sure he doesn't whimper, but his head falls forward just a fraction. Hannibal steps back, lightly running his fingers along the chain around Will's neck before walking away.

Will is admiring the muscles in Hannibal’s back when his hand is taken again, then he's being yanked forward.

“I'm so excited, oh my God, this is gonna be awesome. I hope Master let's me come tonight because I'm gonna be a wreck after this.”

Gabriel sits as close as possible to Will in the booth, facing the stage, still holding Will's hand. The stage now has a St. Andrew's cross -Will blushes- and a small table. Nearly every seat in the dining area is occupied.

“So have you scened with him yet?” Gabriel asks, leaning into Will. Not trusting his voice, Will shakes his head. He continues with a dreamy sigh, “He's amazing, oh my God. Strong as hell and scary too. You're gonna love it. Master!” Gabriel jumps up and takes the hand of a man walking toward them, pulling him over. “This is Will! He came with Hannibal.”

“Well,” the man says, eyebrows raised as he reaches out to shake Will's hand. “You'll be the topic of conversation for weeks. It's been years since he's brought anyone here. I'm David.”

“Nice to meet you,” Will replies, hoping he's not blushing as he shakes his hand.

“You'll forgive me if my conversation is lacking,” David starts as he slides into the booth next to Gabriel, who immediately tucks himself into David's side. “I'm on eight straight, and fucking exhausted,” he finishes, chuckling.

“What do you do?” Will asks.

“Oh, law enforcement. Again, forgive me, I try to give as little detail as possible about my work. This wouldn't exactly be accepted on the force,” he gives a wry grin, slipping his arm around Gabriel's shoulder. “What about you?”

“Oh. Um. I teach.” Will keeps his details limited, as well. “Are you law enforcement, too?” He directs at Gabriel.

“Nope, I'm a kept boy,” he beams. “I clean his house and wash his clothes, he keeps me bruised and sore.”

“Gabriel,” David says pointedly. “Is an extremely talented artist, who also keeps up _our_ home.”

Will smiles, watching the interesting display between the two. He can tell that David is generally laid-back, and has his hands full with Gabriel. They're very much in love, and Will feels intrusive when David removes Gabriel's nipple clamps, kissing him as Gabriel hisses through the pain.

Will's cock responds, and he closes his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose.

When he opens them again, there's a man walking on stage in cut off, blue jean shorts and nothing else. Will's heart jumps into his throat when Hannibal follows behind him.

His vest and tie have been removed, and the first two buttons of his shirt are undone. Immediately, his eyes find Will, and they crinkle with a smile before he looks down at the table on stage.

The whip he picks up is massive, even coiled, and Will swallows hard at seeing it in Hannibal's hand. After inspecting it, he sets it back down and starts rolling up his sleeves.

“Show ‘em how it's done, Sir!” Gabriel yells.

Hannibal looks down from the stage with a raised brow, but his eyes are fond again. Will practically swoons.

“David, your boy needs a spanking. He's clearly forgotten his manners,” Hannibal remarks, rolling his other sleeve.

“I'd say I'd just send him home with you but he'd enjoy that too much,” David smirks.

Gabriel blushes and buries his face in David's shoulder, much to Will's surprise. He didn't expect Gabriel to be embarrassed by anything. **  
**

Will's heart thumps wildly as he watches Hannibal buckle the straps around the boy’s wrists and ankles, speaking softly to him. They both look so calm, and Will can't imagine how anyone could be collected in that position. Hannibal, of course, but the boy restrained? It's mind boggling, considering what's about to happen to him.

“Give me your words, Brantley,” Hannibal says, voice raised and clear for the crowd as he picks up the whip again.

“Green to let you know I'm okay, yellow if I need a break, and red to stop completely.”

“Good boy,” Hannibal praises, and Will tries to squash the ridiculous spike of jealousy he feels. “Relax for me. Breathe.”

“Yes, Sir,” Brantley answers, planting his feet flat and releasing the tension from his shoulders.

Everyone is silent as Hannibal takes his stance, one leg braced behind him and then, with what looks like little more than a flick of his wrist, the tail of the whip snaps loudly. Though Will didn't see the moment of contact, it's made known by Brantley’s deep grunt, and the way his back arches harshly.

“Breathe,” Hannibal instructs, examining the whip before taking his stance again.

Hannibal's forearm flexes, muscles straining against his skin as he snaps the implement a second time. Will's body is responding painfully, and it's difficult not to squirm. Even more so when Brantley groans loudly, pushing onto his tip toes for a moment before relaxing again.

Hannibal is absolutely in his element, confident and completely comfortable. It reminds Will of when he's cooking. There's no tension, no signs of portraying something he's not. Just Hannibal, doing something he loves.

“Where are we, pup?” Hannibal asks gently, stepping forward to card his fingers through Brantley’s hair. Most people probably wouldn't notice the slight of his fingers checking Brantley's pulse, but Will does.

“Green, Sir,” Brantley says, but his voice is shaking.

Another shift into stance, another loud crack, but this time, Brantley is entirely silent, his hands gripping the length of leather around his wrists until it creaks. Hannibal strikes him again.

“Tell me again, dear.”

“Yellow, Sir, yellow,” he says through gritted teeth, hanging his head. There's tears on his cheeks. Beside Will, Gabriel whimpers.

Immediately, Hannibal steps close, resting his hand on the back of Brantley’s neck and speaking softly. Will can't hear the words but he sees Brantley calm his breathing slowly.

The room is almost entirely quiet, everyone watching with rapt attention. Gabriel has moved into David's lap, squirming as he watches closely. Will looks away when David cups Gabriel's cock through his shorts, but he can't miss the soft moan.

On stage, Will can see Brantley nod, then tilt his head toward Hannibal, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. A few more moments and Hannibal steps back again.

“One more, dear. Take it for me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Brantley breathes, melting in his restraints.

The crack blares against the quiet of the room, immediately followed by the deep grunt that Brantley releases. His whole body tenses up and he pants harshly with an open mouth, before his knees give and he hangs limp by his wrists. Will thinks he might come.

The whip is discarded and Hannibal is quickly freeing Brantley, lifting him with ease and carrying him bridal style off the stage and out of sight. Will releases the breath he didn't realize he was holding and unclenches his fists.

“Master…” Gabriel whines beside him.

“I know, slave, I'd already planned to ask for lessons.”

Will wants that. Gabriel looks at David like he's everything, and David looks at Gabriel like he put the stars in the sky. They're so in tune with one another.

Will bets that Gabriel rarely feels scared of anything, and he can't even fathom being that protected by another person. Will feels scared nearly all the time.

The room is buzzing with chatter again, people mingling in small groups while others climb the stairs, many of them already in a state of undress. Will feels envy hot and thick in his throat.  

“Nice, huh?” Gabriel grins, resting his head on David's shoulder.

“Intense,” Will breathes, erection subsiding finally. “You've never done it?”

“Never had the chance, but Master spoils me,” he answers, giving David a dreamy look. “I'll let you know if I get it before you do.”

Will frowns. “I'm sure you will.”

“No, don't think like that,” Gabriel urges, grabbing Will's hand. “You're a natural, I can tell. And you have an amazing teacher. Speak of the devil,” he finishes as Hannibal approaches the table.

The vest and tie have returned, but his sleeves are still rolled, and Will cannot get the image of how his forearms had flexed and bulged out of his mind.

“Good evening, David,” Hannibal says warmly, holding his hand out for Will, which Will takes gratefully, immediately tucking himself into Hannibal's side.

“Evening, Hannibal. Nice work,” he comments, to which Hannibal bows his head gracefully. “It looks like I'm going to have to retain your services. This one has a need.”

“Doesn't this one always have a need?” Hannibal teases. His hand rests at the small of Will's back, thumb gently moving back and forth, and Will can't focus on anything except his own need.

“Yeah, about that,” Gabriel smirks, looking back at David. “Take me home?”

“And that's my cue, gentlemen.” Gabriel bounds out of the booth, dragging David by the hand -it's a thing with him, apparently- impatiently. “Will, lovely to meet you. Hannibal, I'll call you.”

“Get my number from Hannibal and call me, Will, we'll do lunch!”

“Be good, brat,” Hannibal says, playfully stern.

“I always am,” he calls from across the room, literally jumping into David’s arms to be carried out.

“Now,” Hannibal starts once they're out of sight, his hand dipping dangerously low on Will's back. “I do believe you asked for something.”

Shuddering, Will licks his lips and nods. This kiss is softer than the first, but no less intense. Will tries to keep it tame, but the moment Hannibal's hands find his hips, he tilts his head and deepens it, melting against Hannibal with a soft moan.

When Hannibal pulls back, it's only a fraction, resting his forehead against Will's. Will feels lightheaded again, almost high, and wraps his arms tight around Hannibal's neck.

“People are staring,” Will smiles, blushing furiously as he hides his face in Hannibal's throat.

“If they're going to gossip, it's only polite to give them something worth gossiping about.” **  
**

“If that's the case, I can make a few suggestions that'll really have them talking,” Will whispers, nipping at Hannibal's jaw.

It's shocking, to realize that he would give Hannibal absolutely anything, with everyone watching. Not just give, _enjoy_. He might even beg for it, if it kept Hannibal's hands on him.

“You're wanton, and I'm to be mingling.” Will learns, then, that Hannibal's noises are much like his expressions. He smiles with his eyes, and he groans with the pressure of his fingers in Will's skin.

Will wrinkles his nose. “I've heard mingling is overrated. Thankfully, I wouldn't know from personal experience.”

Will _feels_ his misstep immediately. Hannibal goes entirely still, and pulls back. The look he gives Will can only be described as evil. Will shivers.

“I _did_ mention I'm a sadist, correct?”

Will groans and hangs his head. “Can't you just beat me instead?”

Hannibal pauses and gets that blank look again, before tilting his head a fraction. “I haven't quite deciphered if you do that on purpose or not.”

Before Will can ask what he means, Hannibal is leading him to the bar. It's amazing, how he can instantly leave behind the blatant desire to become the proper conversationalist. Will is still a wreck, even once he's finished another glass of water and been introduced to four couples. **  
**

Most of the ‘mingling’ involves people, other Dominants, asking Hannibal for advice. It's one part interesting, and three parts maddening because with every request comes the painfully arousing explanation from Hannibal, generally murmured in Will's ear.

“Mine has shown some interest in water play, which I have very little experience in. Do you think you could show me a few things?” Someone asks.

And Hannibal, as generous as ever. “Of course. I'll call you this week and setup a time. I think Daniel might have a tank we can use.”

Then his breath is on Will's neck and his voice is so low as he murmurs, “Being restrained and left to struggle under water. Every natural instinct at the whim of the one who owns you. It takes an extreme level of trust.”

Every time, every new explanation, Will feels his throat get tight, his heart pounding harder and harder, until he can't stop himself from pressing into Hannibal's side and all but clinging to him.

“How do you do it?” Will asks quietly, squirming slightly. “How are you so calm when I can't focus on anything but touching you?”

Hannibal's expression never changes, but he kisses Will softly -too soft, in Will's opinion- before taking Will's hand and placing it directly over his heart. It's _pounding_ , maybe even faster than Will's.

“You see? I'm simply rather good at multi-tasking. My thoughts are consumed with you, and for far longer than just tonight.”

Will moans, deep and full before Hannibal kisses him again, hard, licking into his mouth. Will might as well be a puddle, an utterly useless, desirous thing of only nerve endings and filthy thoughts. Hannibal seems as unconcerned as Will is about their ravenous display being watched by many. Will wants so badly.

“Perfect performance, as usual, Hannibal. Lovely.”

Will is frighteningly close to telling the next person that interrupts to go fuck themselves. Hannibal sighs against Will's lips, pulls away slightly but doesn't break eye contact with Will.

“Thank you, Alistair, I aim to please.”

“Bullshit, you aim to have your ego stroked,” Alistair replies with a laugh.

“I see no reason why I can't do both,” Hannibal says easily, finally looking over but pulling Will closer still. “Will, this is Alistair. He owns this beautiful establishment.”

He's older, maybe mid fifties, but still in good shape. His white hair is slicked back and he's wearing a tuxedo. Will never thought he'd see the day that someone would best Hannibal in terms of being overdressed.

“It's fantastic to meet you, Will, I hope you'll consider becoming a member. Hannibal's been alone a rather long time, it's nice to see him with a companion.”

“Are there meetings taking place before I arrive to decide how many of you will bring up my solitude?” Hannibal can joke, and be snarky, like regular humans. Will is pretty sure he's swooning.

“Oh, absolutely,” Alistair agrees. “We decided to keep it to a minimum tonight, for Will's sake.”

“Then some of the boys around here should be disciplined better,” Will chuckles, recalling exactly how many of them had mentioned his presence at Hannibal's side.

Alistair laughs loudly. “Oh, I like him, Hannibal, you have to keep him.”

“I've every intention of doing just that.”

That's the moment everything in the room falls away, the world shifts, the planets drop from orbit and Will is _smitten_. Hannibal wants to keep him. He knows Alistair is still talking, he knows Hannibal is replying, and there's banter and laughter and even a few questions that Will answers. But beyond all of those things are Hannibal's fingers on Will's waist and the heavy chain around Will's neck that's he's pretty sure he'll want to keep there forever.

Will isn't sure how many introductions happen after that. He's too focused on the line of Hannibal's jaw and how he'd tasted. How badly he wants to feel Hannibal above him. Things are blurry around him but Hannibal, he can see with absolute clarity.

Then, there's cordial goodbyes and promises of phone calls, Franklyn snipping the band from his wrist and the cool, fresh air as they step outside. The first true sensation, other than Hannibal, that Will feels is the hard brick wall against his back as he's shoved into it.

Will can do little else but be kissed. Hannibal is consuming him, tongue and teeth and his hands rest on either side of Will's neck. Much like earlier, Hannibal's thigh wedges between Will's legs, but this time, he practically lifts Will off the ground. Slowly, his hands glide down to Will's hips again, digging in hard as Will rolls against him.

He's so fucking hard. Everything aches with desire to be touched, filled, fucked. He wants Hannibal more than he wants air. His fingers twine in Hannibal's hair, tugging hard as Hannibal's teeth find his pulse point.

“Sir, please,” Will whispers and the title isn't even used on purpose this time. It just falls from his lips with blatant desperation.

Hannibal sinks his teeth deeper, briefly, palms pressed to the brick for leverage as he pushes harder against Will's cock with his thigh, and when he groans, it's audible and rumbling.

Just as Will thinks, _knows_ , he's going to come, Hannibal slows. Not just his roaming lips or his pressure between Will's legs. Even his breathing slows as he pulls back, catching Will's eyes with a deep gaze.

“This is positively absurd,” Hannibal huffs a laugh. “Mere days ago, I would've never dreamed to have my affections returned.”

“Yet here we are, instead of your bedroom,” Will replies, too breathless for any true sarcasm.

“That mouth is going to get you into serious trouble, boy,” Hannibal growls, fingers clutching Will's hair tightly enough to make him moan. Then, his grip eases again, and he sighs. “I must take you home.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Will asks, finally peeling his lips from Hannibal's skin.

“I'm taking you home because even my control has limits,” Hannibal says gently, stroking Will's cheek. “I'll see you Wednesday at my office. We'll talk then.”

“It's not talking I'm interested in,” Will grumbles with a sigh.

“I want you to remember you've said that when I'm bringing you to orgasm with just my words.”

Will shivers hard and drops his head back against the wall, feeling his heartbeat in his cock.

“You could just fuck me,” Will whispers, feeling bold even though his cheeks are still heating from the statement. “It doesn't have to be like… _that_. I just- I'd really like to make you feel good, and I actually have a bit of experience in that area.”

Hannibal grips him hard, sucking at Will's neck again until Will is clawing at his back. “You have a penchant for manipulation.”

“I mean, there'll still be some things. This- It's not a role for me. It's not a part I have to play. It's just who I am, but I can- I can try to turn it off for awhile.”

Hannibal gets that blank look again, and Will's discovering that it happens when Hannibal is caught off guard by Will's response. Then his eyes close and he exhales slowly.

“I only wish you to be yourself. Always,” he whispers deeply.

“My car is still at your house, anyway,” Will presses, “Unless you really want me to make the trip back to Wolf Trap.”

Hannibal narrows his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips when he growls, “Get in the car, boy, before you get us arrested for indecent exposure.”

Will smiles so wide it hurts his cheeks **.  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The gentlemen's club was a real place that I had the privilege of walking through once, before it was destroyed by hurricane Katrina. The rest of the rooms will be explored later in the story.
> 
> 2\. I'm an extreme pain slut, and I can only handle four stripes with a proper bullwhip (not the pleather toy shit) before I safeword.
> 
> 3\. Gabriel and David are real people and I love them dearly. 
> 
> 4\. The beginnings of a case-fic start next chapter. As well as true smut, real smut, send-me-straight-to-hell smut. 
> 
> 5\. YALL LEFT SO MANY COMMENTS LAST CHAPTER I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA CRY I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the wait. Christmas happened, and then I had to move. Huge thanks to damnslippyplanet for the edits!

The drive back to Hannibal’s house was mostly silent. Will struggled with keeping his hands in his own lap, and though Hannibal didn’t say anything when Will’s fingers found his thigh, Will noticed that Hannibal gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter than was necessary.

As Hannibal unlocks -or tries to unlock his front door, Will can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist from behind, dipping his fingers dangerously low on Hannibal’s slacks.

“Will,” Hannibal whispers.

He rests his forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder, shuddering. “Please don’t make me go.”

It’s not only because Will is near dying with need. Hannibal sending him home would feel too much like rejection. There’s still the fear that Hannibal regrets bringing Will to the club, despite everything that had happened. If Hannibal could let him go so easily, Will’s not sure he could face him again. Not when Will is all but ready to drop to his knees on Hannibal’s front porch.

Just like that, just allowing the thoughts to formulate and take hold, Will feels embarrassed and self-conscious. As though thinking it made it true. His throat feels tight as he lets go and puts some distance between them.

“My keys are on your entry table. Just let me grab them and I’ll head home,” Will says, thankful that his voice is both steady and almost nonchalant.

Will hears the click of the lock but immediately, Hannibal has turned to face him. “Will, you must understand that it’s not because I don’t want you here.”

“Really, it’s okay.” Will even manages a small smile. “I get it.”

The worst part is that he _does_ get it. Something he’s anticipated since that night in Hannibal’s kitchen. It’s not Hannibal’s fault that Will is who he is; a socially awkward mess of a man that couldn’t hold a candle to anyone, let alone the people Hannibal spends his time with.

“I don’t think you do,” Hannibal says softly, palming Will’s cheek and Will can barely stop himself from flinching. “I simply think we should talk, with clear heads, before we move any further.”

“I understand,” Will nods, and tries to give Hannibal a look that resembles the word because he doesn’t want to be there anymore. He wants to disappear, and pretend he never allowed himself to hope. He doesn’t want to have _the_ conversation, not on Hannibal’s front porch and still wearing the things Hannibal had given him.

The _no, it’s not you_ and _we’re just too different_ and _we can still be friends_ conversation.

He doesn’t want to have it at all. Ever.

Hannibal stares at him for a moment longer before he exhales and steps in the door to grab Will’s keys.

“I know we’re to see each other on Wednesday but may I call you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Will replies, already turning to go because now he’s itching to get away from Hannibal’s prying eyes and gentle expression.

“Will,” Hannibal calls and when Will turns around, Hannibal is close again.

The kiss is soft, enough to make Will’s chest ache. Hannibal’s hand grasps Will’s shoulder lightly, and Will refuses to shiver when Hannibal’s breath washes over his lips.

“You’ll let me know when you’ve arrived home.” Will can’t trust his voice, he knows it’ll break so he nods, moving from Hannibal’s touch as gently as possible. “Goodnight, Will.”

He clears his throat and turns away before he speaks. “Goodbye, Hannibal.”

He doesn’t text when he gets home. The clothes and chain are immediately boxed up and put in the back of his closet, and he doesn’t consider why he won’t throw them away. He doesn’t sleep either.

**

Jack calls him the next day, and Will can’t help but grumble about it being a Sunday. In truth, he’s both weary and thankful for the distraction. He doesn’t want to think about death, but he doesn’t want to think about Hannibal either. At least thinking about death is easy.

It's the Ripper. After months of quiet and a slow ease of tension from Jack's shoulders, in the middle of an open field and perched in kneeling position is the Ripper’s latest victim. He's anchored to a wooden platform with steel bolts through his calves, his hands are resting against his thighs.

A white male, mid to late thirties, missing his heart. Only his heart, which is odd for the Ripper, and Will is immediately concerned. In truth, he's happy it's concern he's feeling and not something more sinister, like it usually is with the Ripper’s victims.

Of all the monsters he gets close to, the Ripper is the only one that never leaves him. It's as though he's just as much in Will's head as Will tries to be in his. Even in Will's everyday life, the Ripper makes conversation in his mind, like an old friend or loved one.

Will wishes it was still disconcerting, like it had been in the beginning. Now, it's almost comforting, to always have company, and this new scene will only make his presence more prominent.

The body is open from clavicle to belly button, and in place of the missing organ, caged securely behind the ribs, is a small scroll.

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm; for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.”

Zeller reads it aloud, then his eyebrows quirk up. “Well, what the hell does that mean?”

Will wishes he had an answer. He's exhausted, the sun is too bright and everything is so loud in this open field that he can't think straight.

“It's a bible verse. Song of Solomon,” Price explains, glancing up from his phone. “There are many interpretations, but most believe it's a reference to the strength of God's love for his children.”

“The Ripper is a bible thumper now?” Beverly asks, pushing her safety glasses up into her hair.

“No,” Will answers immediately, shaking his head. “He believes in God, yes, but not to worship. To… mock him. Defy him. The verse just happens to come from the bible, its meaning was something else entirely.”

He just can't figure out what. Was the verse meant for the victim, or the Ripper himself? Jack asks these very same questions and it's like he'd snapped his fingers; everyone flitters away quietly and Will has to _look._

It'd be easier if he could get Hannibal's smiling eyes out of his mind. There's something here, pressing at the back of his subconscious, Will just can't grasp what.

**

On Tuesday, Will dismisses his class twenty minutes early, and he can't even muster up a decent explanation.

After the room has fallen silent, he falls heavily into his chair behind his desk and checks his phone. Two missed calls from Jack, a number he doesn't know and one from Hannibal. Three new voicemails.

It'll be the fourth call from Hannibal, since Saturday, that he won't return. It's pretty clear that Hannibal is a _closure_ type of guy but Will isn't, and despite feeling childish for it, he isn't going to give Hannibal the peace of mind. Soon, Hannibal will give up all together, and it'll be done.

He never leaves a message, but Will's heart still pounds a bit as he waits for them to play. The first two are Jack, of course, curt and far from courteous as he tells Will to call him back. The last is far more shocking.

“Hi, Will, it's Gabriel! Hannibal gave me your number. Just wanted to see what you thought of Saturday and see if you needed a like-minded friend to chat with. Call me, we can get sushi or something!”

Will feels far more angry than he expected. Giving Gabriel his number was just cruel of Hannibal, and an invasion of privacy. Furthermore, it leads to ridiculous, grade school questions and Will wonders if Hannibal and Gabriel spoke about him.

He doesn't delete the message, nor the number, but he's almost positive he'll never use it.

Wednesday night, seven-thirty, he's not at Hannibal's office and his phone is off. Winston sits at his feet, looking up periodically for sporadic petting as Will grades poorly written research papers. An hour and a half, and one too many errors later, he decides he's too sober and gets up to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

He nearly drops the glass when a knocks comes on his door. It's late, he's in the middle of nowhere, and rarely has visitors. If it's Alana, he has every intention of holding her hostage to help him grade.

It's not Alana.

“You haven't answered my calls, and when you didn’t show up tonight, I was concerned. Are you well?”

Hannibal, looking worried and gorgeous and really out of place on his front porch, wearing a full suit and holding a bag. Will's heart starts to race, and it's a few moments before he has the wherewithal to step back and allow Hannibal inside. The dogs rush forward to sniff and Will, still unable to really accept what's happening, manages to get them back to their respective beds, though they're all unhappy about it.

He clears his throat as he turns back to face Hannibal once more. “Been a rough week. Sorry you made the hour drive for nothing.”

Despite his heart stupidly thinking this unexpected visitor is a good thing, Will is uncomfortable and somewhat angry. He feels ambushed, backed into a corner, forced to face a conversation he'd been all too happy to ignore. He can't even muster a friendly gesture of seating, he just sips his whiskey as Hannibal hovers by the front door.

“It's rather rude of me to show up like this, but I’m seeing you. That’s hardly nothing.”

Will sighs, running a hand over his face. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I mean- it’s easier for me if you don’t. So just, don’t. Please.”

Hannibal tilts his head a fraction, but is otherwise perfectly still. “Do what, exactly?”

“Pretend to be interested.” Will shifts from one foot to the other, looking down at his glass to avoid Hannibal's intense stare. “Or, whatever that is that you do. I've seen you do it with some of your patients.”

Hannibal is silent for a beat longer than necessary, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “The word you're looking for is ‘placate,’ and that is not at all what I'm doing with you. I've never, as a matter of fact.”

He sounds so fucking _sincere_ , it makes Will's chest tighten, and suddenly, he feels like the biggest idiot in the world. Hannibal closes the distance between them, near enough to touch but not crowd, and cups Will's cheek.

“I missed you this week. That's not placating. It's honesty.”

Will can feel Hannibal's breath on his lips and it's dizzying. He's here and he's touching Will and this is not at all what Will expected to happen. Before he can think better of it, he leans in to press a soft kiss to Hannibal's lips, barely containing a shudder when Hannibal responds immediately. It's chaste, but God, it's enough.

“I'm an asshole,” Will says by way of explanation as he pulls back, feeling like a petulant child for how he'd acted.

“You told me you'd question my interest. I should’ve made my intentions clearer. I’m sorry to have been the cause of your upset this week, the fault is mine.”

And then he's kissing Will again, still slow, gentle, but the insistence is there behind the feel of his tongue on Will's lips. It makes Will's blood pump harder, his skin pebble with goosebumps, and when Hannibal pulls away again, Will struggles not to follow.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, taking Will’s glass and setting it on the table. Will is pretty sure he ate yesterday, and that answer must be visible on his face. “I suspected as much. I've brought dinner, if you'd like to show me to your kitchen.”

Will cringes. “It's not exactly in shape for company.”

“You can eat in my car, if you wish, but you _will_ eat.”

There's that tone again, only this time, it's accompanied with a _look_. A look that says Will shouldn't argue, and even if he did argue, he wouldn't win. A look that makes Will's knees feel shaky.

Will swallows around the lump in his throat but his voice is still weaker than he wants when he asks, “Front porch?”

“It is a beautiful night,” Hannibal answers easily. “It will be better if it’s reheated, however.”

It’s such a _Hannibal_ thing to say. Entirely unconcerned with the state of Will’s home or anything that transpired in the previous days. Only that the meal is good enough for Will. It makes Will smile, and that warm feeling appear in his chest again.

“It could be frozen and still be better than anything I’ve cooked for myself,” Will chuckles, leading them outside.

The night is cool but not uncomfortably so, and the moon is nearly full. The porch is illuminated enough that Will doesn’t turn on the light. Hannibal moves the two rocking chairs closer together and sits, pulling out a ceramic container. He even brought proper silverware, of course.

“Pork loin with a cumberland sauce of red berries. I hope the meat hasn’t cooled terribly, it will change the texture.”

“Hannibal, it’s going to be amazing, stop worrying and let me eat.”   

Even in the low lighting, Will can spot the arched brow and slight grin as Hannibal hands him the food. “Yes, Sir.”

Will covers his blush by taking a bite. It’s delicious, and still plenty warm, but that’s no surprise. Suddenly, he’s ravenous, days’ worth of improper nutrition catching up with him.

“Thank you. This is amazing,” he expresses between bites. “I know I say that every time you cook but it’s because it’s always true. Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“I’m terrible at knitting,” he deadpans, making Will laugh and roll his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I struggle with being ignored, even if your reason was valid. I spent most of the previous days fighting the urge to drive out here.”

“I'm sorry. Again. I'm not always entirely rational,” Will sighs, finishing the last bite of his food before closing the container and setting it back in the bag.  

“It was quite rational,” Hannibal assures him. “The fault is my own. Seeing you Saturday, there, looking for all the world as though you'd been there a hundred times, had a much stronger effect on me than I had anticipated. If I'd brought you to my bed, I would've wanted things that need to be discussed first.”

Will scrubs a hand over his face, trying to not to blush. “Things we could've discussed if I'd shown up tonight.”

Hannibal pauses. “Have you had much to drink?”

Will's brow draws in confusion. “That was my first glass. I'm still sober. Why?”

“I'm available now, if you're not too tired.”

Will swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “I'm not tired. I just don't- where do we start?” 

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Nodding, Will rubs his palms over his thighs. “It was definitely enlightening. I felt out of my depth but you- you kept me grounded. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”

“Keeping you grounded is my purpose, and intensely pleasing for me. Was there anything you didn't like?”

Will hesitates briefly, concerned he might offend Hannibal but decides honesty is best. “Gabriel's attitude. Not that I- I mean, I liked him fine. He's seems like a good guy but…”

“He's a bit much, yes,” Hannibal nodded, smiling slightly. “I'd like to apologize for giving him your number without permission. I had hoped he would hear from you and ease my concerns about your wellbeing.”

“Don't apologize, I would've given it to him myself,” Will replies with a shrug. “It's just… if that's what you're looking for, I can't be that. I'll never be that… disrespectful or bouncy.”

“You recall my lack of patience for brats? Well, not all Dominants share that particular offense. That's why David is his Master, and I am not, nor have I ever been, save for singular scenes.” He takes Will's hand, and waits until Will meets his eyes. “I don't want a submissive like Gabriel, and I don't want you to be anyone other than yourself. Truly.”

Will releases a quick breath. “That's- thank you. Good, I mean. Being me is the only thing I've got a true grasp on. Most of the time.”

“I intend to help you keep that grasp,” Hannibal promises, brushing his knuckles over Will's cheek. “I'm rather enamored with you.”

Will leans into the touch, shivering. “You can't just say things like that to me.”

“I think not saying things like that to you is precisely what put us in a predicament this week. So, I've every intention of telling you just how I feel, as frequently as possible.”

Will wants to ask just _what_ he feels, because the words sound a lot heavier than they should for two people who have only been on one date. But that unspoken question leads Will to wonder just what _he's_ feeling, because that warmth is blooming again and it feels just as heavy.

“I'm pretty enamored with you, too,” Will whispers, embarrassed because the phrase doesn't sound as nice coming from him.

Hannibal's thumb catches Will's bottom lip, lightly. “Would you like to spend the weekend with me?”

“In what capacity?” When Hannibal's eyes crinkle with amusement, Will hastily continues. “I mean, yes, of course. Yes. I just meant as- as what?”

“As my submissive. Or as nothing titled at all, if that's more comfortable. In any capacity that you wish. I simply wish to be with you.”

Will smiles. “As your ridiculously-inexperienced-but-eager-to-learn submissive. If you'll have me.”

For the first time in days, Will gets to see Hannibal's blank look, and the second it takes Hannibal to land on an emotion is filled with anticipation. However, Will barely has the chance to register the desire before he's being hauled into Hannibal's lap.

The chair isn't big enough, and Will's thighs dig into the armrests as Hannibal positions Will in a straddle, but he can't be bothered to care with Hannibal's lips against his. Strong fingers dig into his hips and he arches instinctively, heat pooling between his legs.

“This is all I've thought about, you realize,” Hannibal murmurs between kisses, and Will notes - _giddy-_ that he sounds a touch breathless. “The incubus that's invaded my dreams.”

“Me, too. God, constantly,” Will groans, unable to be anything but painfully honest, even if he can't twist the words into poetry like Hannibal can. He grinds down, but the chair prevents him from gaining the friction he craves. “I've never felt this touch-starved before.”

“I'll sate that hunger, I assure you.”

He doesn't care that the position is uncomfortable or that they're outside. He doesn't care that he should probably be ashamed at his neediness. Hannibal is touching him and all he wants is to touch back.

Brazenly, Will slips his hand between them and grips Hannibal's cock through his slacks, moaning at the hardness he feels. Hannibal hisses through his teeth and pushes upward into Will's palm, pulling Will's hair as his teeth find Will's pulse point.

Will's cock is throbbing, and he can feel his heart thudding in time. He _needs_ to come, he's damned sure he'll go insane if he doesn't. He reaches for Hannibal's belt.

“No,” Hannibal breathes, catching Will's wrist. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

Will actually _whimpers_ . “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you _trying_ to drive me crazy?”

Hannibal chuckles, shuddering as his fingers turn from forceful to soothing up Will's sides. “I have plans for you, and they do not include your front porch, regardless how appealing the idea of putting you on your knees out here might be.”

“I ache, Sir,” Will sighs, resting his forehead against Hannibal's shoulder as he tries to slow his breathing. “I want you so badly.”

“This weekend. I'll have you, repeatedly. It will be worth the wait, boy, I promise you.”

Will turns his head to taste Hannibal's throat, still rocking his hips slightly. Just the mention of Hannibal _having_ him makes his cock leak, and he twists his hand, still in Hannibal's grip, to press between his own legs in hopes of relieving the intense ache. Even that small touch makes him grunt, nuzzling his face against the crook of Hannibal's neck.

“You tempt me, so entirely,” Hannibal whispers, fingers slipping under Will's shirt on his lower back. “Without even trying, you chip away at my resolve.”

“Are you saying I'm one step closer to being fucked on my front porch?”

“I'm saying that it's time for me to go before I willingly ruin the aforementioned plans.” The words are murmured against Will's ear, rough and promising. It makes Will push harder against his own cock. “I won't presume to demand it but it would please me if you didn't have an orgasm until this weekend.”

Shuddering hard, Will buries his face in Hannibal's neck and tries not to blush as he whispers, “Presume. Please.”

Hannibal's fingertips dig into his lower back almost painfully and he exhales heavily against Will. There's a moment of silence, and when he speaks again, his voice is hard. “If you come before you see me again, you'll spend the weekend aching and without release.”

“I could come right now,” Will groans, and it's entirely true. He's being _ordered_ , and he knows for sure that if he fails, Hannibal will keep his promise. His cock twitches hard and his stomach tightens. “I won't but, God, Sir, I could. Easily. Your voice…”

Hannibal takes a sharp breath and leans back. “I must leave. Now. I must, or I won't, and then I'll be disappointed with myself.”

“I'm going to be a mess when I get to your house Friday.”

“Good,” Hannibal says forcefully.  “I want you so wholly consumed by arousal that the mere thought of my touch puts you on edge.”

Will has to grip his cock tighter this time, not to ease the pressure but to stop himself from coming. “You should go, if you're going to,” he chokes out, clenching his eyes shut.

“We'll speak more in-depth on Friday,” Hannibal promises, cupping Will's cheek. “I intend to learn every crevice of your mind this weekend.”

“I'm nervous,” Will admits. “Excited, but nervous. You're used to-to experience and confidence. I'm lacking in both.”

“Confidence comes with experience, and experience comes with time. I'm very much looking forward to time with you.”

“Let's hope you still feel that way come Sunday.”

“You'll be lucky if I let you leave come Sunday, boy,” Hannibal says, “You haven't met my monster yet. It may very well be you having second thoughts when all is said and done.”

Will shakes his head. “I know monsters, Sir. I could never be scared of yours. I- I'd like to meet him.”

Will is pretty sure Hannibal's monster would be the most seductive and terrifying he's ever seen. Much like the Devil himself, because Hannibal is too perfect to actually _be_ perfect. Will knows there has to be something lurking underneath, but he's not scared. He's interested.

**

Hannibal had told Will to pack lightly, ensuring him that they'd be spending most, if not all of the weekend away from the world. Still, he almost felt improper going to Hannibal's house in anything less than a three piece suit -not that he actually owned one, but still. The idea of being _comfortable_ seemed ludicrous. He couldn't even fathom the idea of Hannibal in lounging clothes.

Mrs. Evans had accepted the job of keeping an eye on the dogs for the weekend, with only a promise that Will would sit for coffee with her when he returned home.

As he drives to Hannibal's, he hopes, selfishly, that anyone with an urge to kill waits until Sunday evening, so that he's not called away. He's determined, despite his nerves, to learn everything Hannibal wishes to teach him this weekend. Soak up every piece of information that he can.

More than anything, he wants to learn Hannibal. From the beginning, it seemed Hannibal just _knew_ how to turn Will into a bundle of need. Will wants the same. He wants to see Hannibal overcome with desire for him. To break that perfect control. The thought is both frightening and arousing.

Everything is fucking arousing to him right now, honestly. He followed his orders, despite being more worked up than he’s ever been. To make matters worse, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from jerking off, attempting to relieve even the slightest bit of pressure but, in the end, it only made it worse. He’s pretty sure he’s going to come the moment Hannibal touches him.

He took two showers when he got home from work, shaved and trimmed and all but fretted over what to wear, eventually landing on a green button down and dark khakis.

It’s nearly six in the evening when Will finally arrives, and he can all but guarantee that Hannibal already has dinner prepared. Between the ache in his cock and the nerves in his stomach, he’s not really that hungry, but he knows Hannibal is going to expect him to eat something. He knocks.

When Hannibal opens the door, Will's stomach climbs into his throat. The view of him makes it real. This is happening.

He's in grey slacks and a light blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows again, and his hair has fallen over his forehead. Immensely attractive and, God, Will is dying to touch him.

“Hi.”

Hannibal takes his bag from him as he steps inside and then, he's being pushed against the closed door. It's embarrassing, how he moans the moment Hannibal's lips touch his, just the simplest of acts but Will feels it everywhere.

And then Hannibal is everywhere. Consuming Will with a tight grip on Will's waist and a low groan as he drops his lips to Will's neck.

“Hello, boy.” Immediate roles, then. Which puts Will at ease, slightly. No guesswork. “Either I have an intensely strong effect on you, or you listened to my order.”

“Both,” Will gasps as Hannibal's hand cups his cock through the pants. “I'm- Sir, it won't take much,” he warns.

“You'll come when I give you permission, not before,” Hannibal growls, gripping Will's cock hard enough to make him whimper. “You make the sweetest sounds.”

Will can't breath. He rocks forward into Hannibal's grasp, dropping his head back against the door as he holds tight to Hannibal's shoulders. Blood roars in his ears.

Then, almost predictably, Hannibal stops. With one last kiss to Will's pulse point, he stands straight and smooths out his shirt, appearing entirely unaffected.

His eyes are smiling. “Are you hungry?”

Will is nearly panting. He flattens his palms against the door and tries to slow his breathing. “I'm not sure, Sir. I can't think about food right now.”

He can't think of anything outside of Hannibal's hands and fingers and tongue. The harsh grip on his cock and the rough command. He's never ached so badly in his life.

“Please, just fuck me, Sir,” Will whispers, too far gone to feel embarrassment as he presses close to Hannibal again. “Here, in your bed. Over your kitchen counter if you want, just, _please_ , do something.”

“You realize this only tempts me to leave you aching for the rest of weekend, correct?” Hannibal asks with an arched brow. “I wonder just how long I could deny you before your body involuntarily caved, or you outright disobeyed me.”

Will can feel his mind retreating from the brink and focusing on the thought of disobeying - _disappointing_ Hannibal. How Hannibal would look at Will, upset and disinterested. He swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat but it's not arousal choking him this time. It's the realization that he'd do nearly anything if it meant pleasing Hannibal.

“My body would have to betray me, Sir, I couldn't directly disobey you.”

Hannibal gives a low hum and kisses Will softly. “Which is exactly why I won’t make you wait all weekend. Just until after dinner. Well, perhaps a bit longer.”

Will nods. “Yes, Sir.”

Hannibal excuses himself to take Will’s bag upstairs, and tells Will to have a seat in the dining room. Slowly, he can feel himself relaxing in the warm atmosphere. He’s made it this far, and Hannibal is still interested. Whatever occurs tonight, he’s sure they’ll both feel the same in the morning. He refuses to give any attention to the wriggling thought that he could be absolutely terrible at this and Hannibal could send him home halfway through.

“Crawfish etouffee, corn maque choux and garlic bread, paired with a Caymus Sauvignon.”

Will has to smile. “Bringing a bit of home to me?”

“That was the idea, yes,” Hannibal replies after setting down the plates. “You’ll forgive me if it’s not up to standards; I’ve never cooked etouffee before.”

“The fact that you’re pronouncing it properly gives me hope enough,” Will chuckles. But, of course, it tastes amazing. The roux is the perfect texture, and the heat isn’t overwhelming. “Tastes like Louisiana. Thank you, Sir, this is- it means a lot that you’d do this for me.”

Hannibal bows his head graciously and finally begins to eat. “For this weekend, if it’s amenable, I’d like to keep your phone in the guest bedroom. I’ll check it periodically to see if you’ve received anything, and tomorrow, you can call to check on your animals. I find it’s easier to keep the right headspace if you’re not constantly concerned with getting calls or texts.”

That warm feeling finds its way to Will’s chest again at the realization that Hannibal thought of his dogs. “No complaints, here. I don’t suppose if Jack calls, you could tell him I’m indisposed due to my being tied up in your basement?”

“You’ll be tied up in my bedroom, and I’d be careful what you ask me for, boy. I would tell him just that.” When Will blushes, Hannibal continues. “No qualms with being tied up, then.”

“No, Sir.”

“I have something for you, after dinner. My plans for the evening are relatively simple, but I’ve a feeling things will intensify as the weekend moves forward.”

Will has only managed about half of his plate, and he’s not sure he can eat anything else with his stomach quickly tying itself in knots. Any perceived relaxation he felt earlier has disappeared entirely.

“May I ask what your plans are for tonight?”

“I wish to learn you. Every inch. What makes your body yearn for more, and less. What stimulates your mind. That's my only agenda for the evening.”

Shivering, Will closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“For now, your words will be yellow and red. If the time comes that I collar you, we'll choose something more personal.”

Will nods, throat tight at the mention of being collared. Being _owned_ , by Hannibal. It’s all he’s thought about and to hear it come from Hannibal’s mouth sends a lick of heat down Will’s spine.

“Finished?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m too nervous to eat.” With a small smile, he asks, “Do you have some cardinal rule against leftovers? Etouffee is always better the second day, and I’d hate for all this to go to waste.”

Hannibal smiles back. “We’ll have this for lunch tomorrow, then.”

Once the food is put away, they wash the dishes together, and Will can’t help but think how much things have changed in the short time it’s been since they did this very same thing. Suddenly, he feels overwhelmed and has to take a quick breath to stop the flood.

“Thank you, Sir,” he says while drying the last dish, immensely thankful that his voice doesn’t shake. He feels ridiculous. “I mean for giving me a chance. That sounds -I’m just-” he sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I really like you.”

That’s why Will just doesn’t voice his thoughts, because he sounds like an overly emotional child with an extremely limited vocabulary. He’s embarrassed, and wishes he had just kept his mouth shut. But then Hannibal is pulling him close and cupping his cheek, gazing at him with intense eyes.

“You make it sound as if I’m doing you a favor, when in reality, I can hardly believe this is real. I’ve wanted you this way for quite some time, Will. I should be thanking you.”

Smiling wide, Will buries his face in Hannibal’s chest and clings tightly for a moment, before lifting his head to catch Hannibal’s lips with his own. It’s strikingly apparent that Hannibal enjoys caging Will, as he pushes him against the counter much like he had against the door. Will deepens the kiss with a moan, slipping his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth as his fingers find the nape of Hannibal’s neck. Immediately, his cock thickens between his legs and his arousal flares, bright and hot, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Gently, Hannibal pulls back, eyes burning. “Would you like your gift now?”

Panting slightly, Will rocks his hips into Hannibal’s and beams. “Yes, Sir.”

Hannibal narrows his eyes playfully. “I meant your physical gift, brat, not an orgasm.”

“That’s good, too,” Will grins, but doesn’t cease his movements.

“Mouthy boy,” Hannibal says, amused.

Hannibal doesn’t drag him up the stairs, because Hannibal would never be so impolite, but there is insistence, like he’s as excited to give Will his present as Will is to receive it. The moment they cross the threshold into Hannibal’s bedroom, Will’s hands start to shake and his stomach knots up again. Hannibal points to the bed for him to sit, and Will is grateful because he feels like his legs might give.

From the drawer of the night stand, Hannibal pulls out a perfectly wrapped box. As he hands it to Will, he stands between Will’s knees, nearly looming. It makes Will gulp as he starts to pull the bow off the top.

Of all the things Will expected, it wasn’t this. His heart pounds.

“Though it’s not _my_ collar, it is something I would like you to wear from this point forward.” Hannibal says softly, even though Will hasn’t lifted his eyes from the box. “Nylon rope reinforced with glass beads, and a dial lock. It’s thin enough to wear under any garment, and the lock will drape down your back, also hidden.”

It’s black and gunmetal, and possibly the most gorgeous thing Will has ever seen. He raises his hand to touch it, then pulls it back, then raises it again. “Sir, I- it’s beautiful.”

“It’s waterproof. If extenuating circumstances arise and you need it removed, simply ask. Otherwise, it will not come off.” Hannibal’s fingers rake through Will’s hair. “Should our relationship end before I give you my collar, I’ll remove the lock, then.”

Will shakes his head immediately, involuntarily, unable to fathom ever having it removed. At the same time, he can’t imagine wearing it. Feeling it against his skin every moment of every day, always aware of what it is and who it belongs to.

Who _he_ belongs to, and God, that thought makes his entire body quiver.

“May I put it on, Sir?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“No,” Hannibal answers roughly, reaching down to pull the collar from the box. “Because no one will take this moment from me.”

Will looks up, all but drowning in desire. Slowly, almost reverently, Hannibal clasps the collar around his neck, and the click of the lock is deafening in the quiet of the room. The material is light but Will feels its weight down to his bones. Hannibal is blank again, perfectly still, long enough that Will has time to rest his palms on Hannibal’s thighs. The touch seems to pull the emotion he’s searching for from him, and then his fingers are gripping Will’s collar as he bends down and kisses Will hard.

It’s too short lived, Hannibal ripping himself away with a growl and standing straight again. Will takes a deep breath when Hannibal starts unbuttoning his slacks. “I want your mouth.”

Will is nearly positive he could come from Hannibal’s voice alone. He licks his lips at the sight of Hannibal’s cock, uncut and already dripping, and Will can’t wait to taste him. College was the last time he’d done this, and it had only been once, but he’s far too worked up to feel nervous. All he wants in the world is to make Hannibal feel good.

The moment his lips close around the slick head, Hannibal’s fingers tighten in his hair, gripping painfully. His other hand clutches at the back of Will’s neck, and he sighs. Will closes his eyes and focuses, tries to mimic what he enjoys on himself. Wrapping his hand around Hannibal’s cock, he eases the foreskin back and tongues at the head, then takes Hannibal deeper. He chokes slightly when Hannibal taps the back of his throat, but when he tries to pull back, he’s held in place.

“Right there, boy, stay. Hold it.”

Will moans around him, squirming as he drops his other hand to press against his own cock, needing something, anything to relieve the ache. Just as he starts to struggle for breath, Hannibal pulls Will off his cock entirely, groaning slightly. Licking his lips, he stares down at Will, eyes heavy as he grips himself with the hand not in Will’s hair and drags the head of his cock over Will’s mouth.

“Please, Sir,” Will begs, dragging his tongue over the slit and shuddering at the bitter taste he finds.

“One day, boy,” Hannibal rasps, pulling Will down again. “When you're more comfortable, I'll use your throat until your face turns purple and your lungs burn for air. Until you're a slick mess and hoarse the next day.”

Will groans loudly around Hannibal’s length. He’s so fucking hard, it hurts, and his cock is twitching inside his pants. Coming untouched isn’t something he truly thought possible, but he’s pretty sure he’s well on his way there. It inches closer to reality when Hannibal grunts and moves Will’s head faster.

Hannibal is doing most of the work, save for Will hollowing out his cheeks to suck harder. Strong fingers dig into his scalp, and Hannibal’s movements become jerky, nudging Will’s throat on every thrust.

“Look at me, Will.”

Will forces his eyes open and up, trying to focus through unshed tears. For two seconds, Hannibal holds his stare before Will has the unbridled pleasure of seeing Hannibal’s eyes roll back, brow furrowing and twisting his fingers in Will’s curls.

“Mine,” he breathes as Will feels the first stripe of heat on his tongue.

Will’s throat works hard as he swallows repeatedly, determined not to spill a drop of Hannibal’s release. Any moment, Will knows he’s going to come, too. As little as a brush of Hannibal’s hand will have him shuddering and panting. Mine . Will’s never heard anything sexier or, frighteningly, truer.

Hannibal exhales heavily as he slips from Will’s mouth, tucking himself away again. “There,” he says, thumbing at Will’s slick bottom lip. “Now I can concentrate.”

Will whimpers. “Sir, I need to come. I _have_ to come. You’re so sexy and I can’t handle this anymore,” he babbles, gripping Hannibal’s hips.

“You’ll handle anything I wish to give you,” Hannibal promises darkly, and Will knows it’s true but, fuck, his cock hurts. “Strip, dear, and lie on the bed.”

Will’s never rid himself of clothing so quickly. Any and all embarrassment he anticipated feeling is nowhere to be found, not with Hannibal staring at him like he’s something to eat. The fact that he feels, well, _slutty_ , lying in Hannibal’s bed with nothing but a collar on, does nothing but fuel his need.

“As I said, my plans for tonight are rather simple. I’ll not be using any implements or restraints, but don’t fret. I’ll have your bound body striped red soon enough. I’ve a feeling you’re going to enjoy my paddle the most.”

Will squirms, spreading his legs and closing them again, arching his hips up into the air, searching for any kind of friction he can find. Hannibal lies down next to him, still fully clothed, and props himself up on his elbow.

His eyes, hungry, trail over Will’s entire body, and he smirks when Will’s cock flexes under the attention. Still, Hannibal doesn’t touch him.

“You have me painfully curious whether or not you could achieve an orgasm just from me gazing at you.” Hannibal’s tone is amused, bordering on clinical, and the faked detachment just makes Will harder. Like he’s just a toy to be used. “Hands at your sides. You will not touch me until I say so, and you'll lie still. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Will answers, voice shaking.

“Do you ache for my touch, boy?”

“So fucking much, Sir.” Will digs his nails into his palms, hoping to distract himself from the way Hannibal’s question made his stomach clench. “When you touch me, it's like I can't breathe. Like I can't even think. It's the only time my mind is quiet.”

“It's a wondrous thing, to watch every thought dissipate from you until I'm the only thing left.” Hannibal skims his fingertips over Will's collarbones, thumb pressed to the hollow of Will's throat like a promise, just under the collar. “I've never met someone that can so easily slip from one headspace to another, and without pain or high degrees of sensation.”

“Pain helps,” Will admits through clenched teeth as Hannibal tugs at his nipple harshly. “But it's not a mindset I ever truly leave, except when I- when I'm working.”

“When you step into darkness and become a killer,” Hannibal supplies, eyes dark as he gazes at Will.

Will can only nod as his hips strain toward the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides as Hannibal's nail catches on his hip bone. Will's never ached so badly before and he can feel the physical evidence of his need stringing onto his belly.

“You're intensely responsive,” Hannibal murmurs, almost absentmindedly as he ghosts his fingers through the hair surrounding Will's cock. “Like you've never been touched at all.”

“That's what it feels like. Like no one's touched me before you- Sir, please,” Will begs, jaw aching from tension.

Hannibal goes blank again and Will has decided this is at the top of his ‘favorite things’ list; the moment Hannibal mentally discovers the emotion he's feeling. Blank turns into slightly narrowed eyes and a peek of Hannibal's tongue wetting his lips.

“You must do that on purpose,” Hannibal accuses, raking his nails lightly over Will's tightened stomach. Before Will can ask, he explains, “Tell me exactly what I want to hear. It can't be by accident.”

Will takes a deep breath, hoping to regain some of his composure but his voice is still unsteady. “It's coincidence, honestly. You happen to enjoy my truthful blabbering. Amazingly.”

“I enjoy everything you give me, to a fault. I've never struggled with impatience before, and certainly not with someone so new to things, but I can barely restrain myself with you.”

“So don't,” Will whispers reflexively, squeezing his eyes shut. “I won't break.”

“And if I wish to break you?” Hannibal's hand closes around his throat, and Will swallows hard just to feel the struggle of it.

“Gives you a chance to piece me back together,” Will meets his eyes. “I really want to touch you.”

Hannibal’s eyes glint with evil. “You should never tell a sadist what you truly want. It's entirely too appealing to deny you that very thing.”

Will moans and licks his lips slowly. “So I shouldn't tell you how badly I want to see you come again?”

Hannibal growls lowly, tightening his grip on Will's throat briefly. “ _That_ was absolutely on purpose, manipulative boy.”

“Just honesty, Sir, I want it so much. I want to please you.”

Will wants it so much he can taste it. Feel it right down to his bones. He's nearly positive he's never wanted anything more than Hannibal's pleasure, and the taste he had earlier has only made him utterly ravenous for more.

“Have you ever been fucked, Will?”

“Oh, God,” Will cries, arching his hips entirely off the bed. A dribble of pleasure slides down the head of his cock and pools on his belly. _Fucked_. To hear Hannibal use such a word, how filthy it sounded wrapped in his accent, is nearly Will’s undoing. For a long moment, he can do nothing but pant through clenched teeth as he waits for the strangling urge to come to subside. “No, Sir. Just my own fingers, and not very often.”

“I’ve so many instruments I’m going to use on you,” Hannibal promises as he leans over Will to open the nightstand, then sits on his knees between Will’s thighs and quickly strips off his shirt. Will hears the clink of glass, and a moment later, slick, warm fingers press against his hole. “Tell me your words again, please.”

“Yellow to slow down, red to stop,” Will repeats, spreading his legs further as he admires Hannibal’s bare chest. He knows it’s going to be like touching silk-wrapped steel.

“Good boy,” Hannibal whispers.

It’s been so long since Will has done this that just one finger feels uncomfortable at first. Still, he bends his knees to give Hannibal better access, and the change in angle sends pleasure shooting through his stomach. Hannibal eases in a second finger.  

“Sir,” Will gasps, shaking.

“Too much?”

“Too _close_ ,” Will pants, over-stimulated and utterly desperate for more. “I’m gonna-”

“Don't you dare come, boy. Not until I say.”

Will bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, dangerously close to disobeying. When Hannibal presses in a third finger and crooks them, stretching pain mixed with overwhelming pleasure, Will involuntarily tries to pull away.

Will sobs when Hannibal’s other hand clutches his hip, holding him in place. “I can't- I _can't_ … Sir, please, please, please-”

Suddenly, Hannibal’s touch disappears, and Will hears him opening a condom, and then the clink of glass again. Anticipation eats away at him, and his body moves uncontrollably, squirming and twitching and arching. He wants, needs, is _dying_ for Hannibal. The world spins as Hannibal pulls Will from the bed and takes his place, sitting up against the headboard as he positions Will in his lap.

“Touch me,” Hannibal says, and Will could cry with relief as he wraps his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders.

The blunt tip of Hannibal’s cock presses against him, and he holds his breath, forcing himself to relax as his body weight pulls Hannibal into him. It fucking hurts, badly, but the pain only coils and tangles up with the pleasure of Hannibal’s breath on his neck and strong fingers digging into his back. Will is certain he’s going to be split in two, and the morbid part of his brain can’t think of a better way to die.

“Come when you’re ready, boy,” Hannibal growls, thrusting long and slow, lifting Will almost entirely off before pressing in deep again, right against Will’s prostate.

Will clings and shivers and moans obscenely, meeting Hannibal’s thrust when the pain finally gives way to strict, unbearable pleasure. It’s too much, all of it, everything, _everything_. He’s wearing Hannibal’s collar and he’s being fucked like he’s never imagined and he’s safe, owned and oh, God, he’s finally going to come.

Hannibal grunts in his ear, slips his hand between them and wraps a tight fist around Will’s cock, strokes twice and Will is utterly fucking lost, practically screaming as his orgasm is ripped from him. His toes curl and his thighs tighten, his vision goes bright and all he can think is _sir, sir, sir_ as he shoots hot and thick between them. It seems to go on forever, and even longer still when Hannibal’s movements speed up. When Will comes back to the world, he’s near hyperventilating, and every single muscle in his body seems to turn to jelly.

“Such a good boy,” Hannibal says through heavy breaths.

Even through his haze, Will can see how tightly wound Hannibal is. He wants to let go, he wants to give in, but he’s holding back. Be it for Will’s sake or his own, Will isn’t sure, but he remembers Hannibal’s mention of scaring him off. This is the monster, perhaps, and if it is, Will desperately wants to meet him.  

Gently, Will kisses his neck, and his words are slurred as he whispers, “Let me see, Sir. Please?”

Hannibal gives a strained laugh, brow drawn as his nails catch the skin over Will's shoulder blade. “You might not appreciate the sight.”

“Trust me,” Will begs, still winded and whimpering with each brutal press into him.

“I'm afraid I do, dear,” Hannibal groans, eyes rolling back as his thrusts turn erratic and suddenly, his teeth are buried in the curve of Will's throat as he comes with a growl.

Crying out, Will clutches hard at Hannibal's arms, shivering at the feel of blood dripping down his back. He's lightheaded when Hannibal finally stills inside him, and his blood roars through his ears, until, miraculously, it doesn't.

Everything is quiet. _Everything_. He's not looking at the wrinkles in Hannibal's sheets, he's not thinking about monsters, he is simply existing, wrapped in warmth from head to toe. Dazed, blissful, he nuzzles Hannibal's neck, feeling the throb of pain-pleasure from teeth leaving his flesh.

“My boy,” he feels Hannibal whisper.

“Th-thank you. Oh. Sir.” He realizes his teeth are chattering, which leads the realization that he's shaking, clinging so tightly to Hannibal that his arms ache. But it's good. “It all feels so _good_.”

“The truest form of subspace, my dear. I'd have you perpetually in this state, if it were healthy.”

Will feels bereft when Hannibal slips from him and he rolls his hips, chasing the feeling and moaning softly at the residual ecstasy dripping from his cock. He's never felt anything like this. His eyes drift shut.

“Stay awake, Will.” Hannibal tugs lightly at Will's damp curls.

“‘m awake,” Will slurs, head lolling on Hannibal's shoulder. He's drifting, and he knows he'll sleep peacefully for the first time in ages.

Hannibal laughs gently. “As much as I'd love to let you rest against me like this, it's your first time experiencing subspace and I'll feel better if you're alert for the immediate future. This will also need four stitches.” He ghosts his fingers along the impression on Will's neck.

“That’ll s-stop the scarring,” Will frowns, very nearly _pouts,_ but can't seem to find a trace of embarrassment at his needy tone. He likes the idea of being marked -permanently- in Hannibal's particular way.

Hannibal is silent, then he's pulling Will even harder against him. “I'll only clean and bandage it, then,” he promises in a rough tone. “When your body calms, I'll put you to bed. Until then, let me draw you a bath.”

“Y-you'll get in with m-me?”

“Certainly.”

Will hasn't been lifted since he was a child, but Hannibal lifts him easily, effortlessly carrying him bridal style to the bathroom. Like the rest of the home, it's large and nearly museum-like, with marble flooring and gold tiles. The tub is worth three of Will.

“I could s-swim in that thing,” Will grins as Hannibal places him on the counter.

“Or I could simply take you to my summer home in Venice and save my flooring,” Hannibal replies easily, pulling out supplies from the nearest cabinet.

Will rolls his eyes. “Of course you have a s-summer home in V-venice.”

“I've many homes in many places. This will sting,” he warns as he presses a medicated cloth to the bite. Will hisses at the touch, but the burn just heightens the fuzzy feeling in his head and the noise dissolves into a soft moan. “You’re always stunning but in subspace, you’re otherworldly. This could prove dangerous.”

Will’s cheeks get hot. “Why’s t-that?”

“Because I believe I could do anything to you, in this moment, and you’d enjoy it. You fall so deeply into your headspace. I fantasize about doing horrendous things to you.”

With a groan, Will grips Hannibal’s arms tightly. “You c-could, Sir. Really. I want you to.”

“Careful what you give me permission for, boy, or I’ll be grilling strips of your flesh to go with dinner. In the bath with you.”

Will wants to respond with something like _absolutely not_ but all that keeps forming on his tongue is _absolutely yes_ and so he remains silent, but promises himself to remember that comment so he can decipher it when he’s not basking in a natural high. He finds himself between Hannibal’s thighs in the bath, his back to Hannibal’s chest and a warm cloth being dragged down his arms.

He doesn’t ever want to leave this spot. He wants to physically grasp this moment in time and freeze it, mold it to remain the same so he can stay just like this, forever.

“This feels- it feels like…”

Will doesn't have the words, nor the courage to say them if he did.

“Permanent?” Hannibal supplies quietly, dropping a gentle kiss to the mark on Will's shoulder.

“Yeah,” Will breathes, closing his eyes. “Like it could be. Isn't it too soon to be feeling this?”

“You're not alone in that feeling. Though, to be fair, I was drawn to you from the first moment we met.”

“Really?” Will remembers being rude.

“Do you recall when I mentioned that Peter and I hadn't engaged in anything other than formalities in quite some time?”

Will can feel the blush crawling up his cheeks. “I do.”

“A more accurate timeframe for that would be shortly after I met you.”

“I was… so jealous of him,” he admits in a hushed voice. “I felt like a terrible person. There he was telling me about this tragic event and I could hardly focus on anything other than your hands on him.”

“You hid it quite well, and feeling differently than what society expects us to feel isn't terrible.”

“Sometimes it is,” Will whispers, and then wishes he hadn't. Hannibal is far too astute to let that piece of information drift away.

“You feel differently than what society expects when you see death.”

His voice is still steady, and Will thinks it might be even gentler than it was before. Regardless, this isn't a conversation Will wants to have, because then the bubble will be broken. Hannibal will see him differently. Hannibal, his _Dominant_ , will become Hannibal, the _psychiatrist_ , and Will isn't sure he could bear the change.

“There's nothing you could say to me that would change how I feel about you, Will,” Hannibal continues, reading Will like no one else can. “It's not something we have to talk about now, or ever. I simply want you to know that you can.”

Will swallows hard and nods. It's the truth, Will can hear the conviction in Hannibal's words, the way he tightened his arms around Will. But this admission isn't like admitting that Will enjoys submitting during sex. This is something so far beyond any realm that they've dealt with before.

“Are you hungry, or shall we sleep?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Time for bed, then.”

He’s still lost in his thoughts as they dry and Hannibal dresses, but manages to make note of how wonderful Hannibal looks in silk sleep pants. Will was commanded to remain nude, save for his collar and a bandage over his wound. Once they’re in bed, Hannibal pulls Will close and folds himself over Will’s back, one arm draped over his middle. Will isn’t sure why he wants to tell him, maybe it’s his headspace or the way Hannibal seems to understand _everything_ that Will thinks, but he can’t seem to find a reason not to.

“Sometimes, I think death is beautiful. Like a painting. Sometimes, the monsters I see resemble artists.”

“Does that frighten you?”

“No, but it should. I shouldn't think of the Ripper as an artist.”

Hannibal stills behind him. He doesn’t even seem to be breathing. “But you do?”

“Yes. He doesn't just kill. He transforms and I-” Hannibal draws slow circles on Will’s stomach, gently, reassuring. “He's in my head, and I like him there. The things that I think about aren't-”

“Your thoughts are no worse than my own, dear. My monster is far worse than yours.”

Will wants to look at him, to see the expression that he knows must be dark but he can’t bring himself to, so he presses closer instead.

“Will I meet him one day?”

“I'm fairly certain you will. Sleep, dear.”

**

When Will wakes up -from the most sound sleep he can remember having- he’s alone, but there are distinct sounds coming from the kitchen. Without really giving it any thought, he pulls on the dis

carded pajama pants that Hannibal had slept in the night before and makes his way downstairs. They’re slightly too big, hanging low on his hips and dragging the floor when he walks. He finds Hannibal at the stove, of course, cooking what looks to be eggs.

“Morning, Sir,” Will mumbles around a yawn, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he can see clearly, Hannibal is staring intently, spatula paused in mid air. “What?”

Hannibal clears his throat and continues his work. “I can’t decide if I wish to capture this vision of you in a drawing, ravage you on this counter, or finish breakfast.”

Will smiles wide and crosses the distance to him, pressing close. “I like the second one.”

“Mm.” Hannibal glances at him and licks his lips. “I haven’t burned a dish since I was an adolescent.”

With a cheeky grin, Will wraps an arm around Hannibal’s middle, leaning in to kiss under Hannibal’s jaw. “You could just finish it after you’re done with me.”

“Then it would be lunch,” Hannibal responds, flipping the omelet with ease as his free hand slides up Will’s neck and into his hair. He tugs lightly. “Table, boy, this is nearly done. We’ll discuss your attempts to distract me after.”

Will practically floats out of the kitchen, all but beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's cool that Will Graham is a Louisianian because I was born and raised here so talking about Cajun cuisine is my jam.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as most of you know, this last year has royally sucked, hence the 9 months without an update. Recently, Louisiana was bombarded with rain and experienced severe flooding. Well, unfortunately, my family and I lost everything. Save for some astonishing help from magnificent Fannibals, we're going to be on our own in terms of getting back on our feet (because the government suuuuucks).
> 
> So I said all that to say this: I don't know when the next update will be. I'm currently homeless, and displaced to the literal middle of nowhere. I'm also without a vehicle, so I can't even drive to good cell service. But I swear, it won't be another 9 months. I haven't abandoned this and if anyone is still around, I love you all.
> 
> As always, biggest thanks to my lovely beta Damnslippyplanet. She's my moon and stars.

Breakfast should've been a quick affair, it usually was for Will. When he ate breakfast at all. Then again, usually, he wasn't so hard he nearly felt dizzy or so focused on the way Hannibal's throat bobbed when he took a sip of coffee. 

“Typically, when you squirm at my table, it's because you're anxious. Is that the case this morning or are my omelets simply lacking?”

The amusement is clear in Hannibal's voice and it brings heat to Will's cheeks. “Your cooking is perfect, as usual, Sir, I'm just… distracted.”

“I can see that,” Hannibal replies, smirking without really changing his expression at all. “It's going to be rather difficult to get anything done with you around. Well, except you.”

Will is pretty sure he chokes on eggs. “Did you just make a sex joke?”

“I am capable of such things,” he answers seriously, making Will smile fully. “Finish your breakfast, boy. The day is wasting and I have plans.”

That sends Will's heart rate up a few notches. “Should I get dressed for these plans, Sir?” Will is still in Hannibal's pajamas pants and his collar, nothing else.

“Oh, quite the opposite.”

Will focuses entirely on finishing his plate, but his nerves make it more than a little difficult. 

Of course, Hannibal can move onto nothing else before making sure the table is clear and the dishes are done. He has Will sit at the bar in his kitchen and once the last glass is put away, he pulls a notepad and pen from a nearby drawer and stands across from Will. 

“I had intended to do this last night,” he intones with a pointed look. “That is, until a wanton harlot fell into my lap and redirected me.”

Will blushes. “I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about. I distinctly remember someone shoving me against a door before I was barely inside. Sir.”

“I think you're aiming to be put over my knee. Now, I'd really rather not gag you for this but I can make do with simple nods, if I must.”

Will presses his lips together. 

“Good boy,” Hannibal says with a single nod. “I find proper contracts to be somewhat frivolous, but I do think it's necessary to discover one’s limits.”

“It's not something I've ever really considered before,” Will admits, fidgeting in his seat. 

The kitchen is chilly and he's shirtless, but he feels very warm all over. 

“Think of this as a checklist. If there's something you're unsure about, I'll happily explain.” At Will's nod, Hannibal continues. “I only want honesty. We are equals, currently. Meaning you should not fear punishment. I'm only curious about your interests, alright? Nothing you say will change our relationship.”

“Yes, Si- Yes. Okay.” Will agrees. “Will you tell me your limits first?”

“The basics, of course. Bestiality, necrophilia, pedophilia, rape- none of these are kinks, in my opinion, they're disorders, but that's a topic for another time. Outside of those, I'm firmly against any type of body image humiliation. Degrading a sub for their weight, looks, et cetera. Other forms of humiliation are fine, and some are even enjoyable, for me. No force-feeding or denial of essential needs. No Roman showers, scat or anonymous sharing of semen. If it risks your health, I'll have no part in it.” 

“That's- yeah, me, too,” Will says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I saw a video once with a submissive being sealed in a vacuum bag. Only her mouth was visible. Nothing like that for me.”

“That's a form of mummification,” Hannibal explains. “Inexperienced Dominants will use cellophane. A safer method is gauze. We'll stay away from it in any form. Though, one day, we might explore why it's a limit for you.”

“Okay.”

“You seem quite interested in implements. Do you know of any that you do not wish to try?”

Will swallows hard and shakes his head. “I like pain.”

“I'm aware,” Hannibal smiles gently. “But there are some implements that even the heaviest of masochists stay away from. The barbed wire piece you saw at the club, chainmail floggers, razor-laced straps.”

Will fucking squirms, he can't help it. Razors. Hannibal opening his flesh, designs made with Will's own blood, dripping down his back…

“That's- um, I don't- I don't think I'll be against those,” Will answers, looking at his lap. He's suddenly mortified that he's going to leak and stain Hannibal's silk pants.

“Then we'll work up to them. Once you've had a chance to properly feel lesser instruments, we'll reevaluate your feelings.”

Desperately attempting to quell his painful arousal, Will asks, “What happens if I can't handle something? You're a sadist. If you enjoy something that I can't stand or-”

Hannibal takes Will's hand in his. “My sadism has very little to do with how much pain you can handle. I simply enjoy seeing it. If two swats from my paddle has you in tears, or if you're smiling from thirty, it makes no difference.” He kisses Will's knuckles, making Will's stomach flutter. “Please, do not force yourself to endure more than you can bear because you believe it pleases me. I wish to hurt you, not harm you, and there is a significant difference.”

“Beaten, not broken,” Will supplies, smiling softly.

“Precisely.”

There's something Will wants to say, needs to so badly just to see Hannibal's reaction. Honesty, he reminds himself. 

“I think a part of you would enjoy seeing me broken.” He makes sure not to sound accusatory, just inquisitive. 

Hannibal's eyes crinkle, just slightly, and he exhales slowly. “A part of me would have you in pieces at my feet, just to see what you're made of inside. To physically touch the makings of something so wholly other. That same part would live inside of you and erase every single thing in your history that isn't me, if it could.”

Will swallows hard and shivers, unsure of what to say or if he should even open his mouth. He's afraid all that will come out is an obscene noise or, maybe, a plea for Hannibal to bring to life those very things. Will is pretty sure existing only for Hannibal wouldn't be such a bad thing. 

“I did say it could be you that might be having second thoughts after this weekend.”

Hannibal's voice is perfectly neutral, and Will can see right through it. Hannibal is concerned he's said too much. It makes Will want to drop to his knees and find the spot that made Hannibal's thighs shake beneath his palms last night. 

“And I told you that your monster couldn't scare me. I meant it. Now, please, tell me you're going to fuck me on this counter top.”

Hannibal gives an easy smile. “Perhaps, at some point. We're not finished.”

Will sighs dramatically and props his chin in his hand. “Fine, fine. Continue to discover my deviant tendencies.”

“I could spend years in the valleys of your mind and hardly scratch the surface, I think. I hope. But this is a good place to start. You seemed very intrigued by public displays, yes?”

“It's- yeah. Yes.” Will sits up straight again. “It scares me, but not in a bad way. If that makes sense. Just being seen and- and maybe even wanted,” he rambles, trying to put his thoughts into words. “And even the idea of-”

He cuts himself short and swallows hard, blushing as he looks away. 

“The idea of what?” Hannibal asks, gentle. Kind. Curious and affectionate, enough to make Will's stomach turn over. 

“Nothing. It's nothing.” 

Hannibal pauses. “Do you enjoy the idea of being shared, Will?”

Will closes his eyes and exhales shakily. “Very much. But only if you're there to- to participate. Or at least observe,” he quickly expands. “Otherwise, no.”

And that's entirely new. This fantasy was the type Will very rarely indulged in because, well, because he had outdated ideas about sex and what was proper for a man. Because it was wrong and when he thought about it, he felt everything but wrong. The few times he did allow himself to formulate it in detail, concern for his imaginary Dominant never entered the equation. It simply didn't matter. 

It matters now. Hannibal matters, and that makes Will's mouth go dry.

“I'll admit, I'm torn utterly in half, here,” Hannibal says, his voice purposefully controlled. “Part of me wishes to see you in the throes of passion without hindrance of my own wants. The other part of me wishes to taste the blood of any man who dares touch you while my collar rests on your throat.”

Will releases a heavy breath. He tries so hard to ignore the scenes playing his mind of Hannibal tearing flesh with his teeth, with his nails and any instrument he can find. His efforts are wasted, however, and he feels his arousal renew with the images.

“However, I have a few names that come to mind that I would be comfortable using to fulfill that need for you.” 

“You'd- really?” Will asks, both shocked and oddly touched. “You wouldn't think that was… I don't know. Really?”

“It will still be my collar around your neck, which gives me some peace regarding who you'll be coming home with,” Hannibal smiles reassuringly. “I’ve no doubt that I'll even enjoy it.”

Will refuses to dwell on the use of home and focuses instead on the small piece of fabric he's currently crushing between his fingers. 

“We could spend the entire day here and still manage to miss some things, but these are of utmost importance to me. We'll tackle others as they come along,” Hannibal says. 

Will nods and smoothes his palms across the silk again. He hopes they're not too wrinkled. 

**

After giving Will an ample amount of time to center and find his head space once more, Hannibal takes Will to his home office, which apparently doubles as a library. 

Hannibal had been serious when he said Will didn't require clothes. He hasn't allowed Will to even put a shirt on, and takes every opportunity to caress Will's bare skin. 

Will wants to focus on the books. The collectibles, the first editions, the original bindings. Truly, he does, but how can he, with Hannibal gripping his hips? It's hard to breathe let alone pay attention, as Hannibal distractedly murmurs about authors while obviously gazing at the shape of Will's back. 

“Sir, I- it's hard to concentrate… with you touching me.”

“Your presence destroys my ability to focus on anything besides you. Consider it repayment.”

Will can't stop the smile that spreads across his face, or the shiver that runs down his spine from Hannibal's possessive touch. He was alone for so long. Too morbid for this one, too weird for that one. He's not sure how to comprehend being truly wanted.

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Only because I've yet to figure out how I'm to teach you anything when all I'm finding myself interested in is devouring you.”

Slowly, he pushes the pajama bottoms from Will's hips, fingertips grazing Will's thighs as they puddle to the floor. Releasing a shaky breath, Will bends forward to grip the shelf in front him, spreading his legs slightly and arching further. 

Hannibal is silent for two beats, then murmurs, “The things I will do to you. Don't move.”

The next hour is spent with Hannibal at his desk, pencil in hand and leaning over a pad. Will's thighs burn, but he barely moves, because Hannibal wishes it. 

For lunch, they sit at the kitchen bar and eat left over etouffee. Hannibal agrees that it is, without a doubt, better the second day. Will can't help but kiss it from his lips. 

He's never spent so much time nude before. There are moments where he feels self conscious, concerned that he'll bend or twist wrong and look repulsive. Hannibal, still, never stops touching him. 

The afternoon is spent in the sitting room, Hannibal in a chair with a book -something in another language- and Will sitting on the floor next to him. 

It's humiliating, being unworthy of even a chair, and even more so when he feels burning lust because of it. Occasionally, idly, Hannibal threads his fingers through Will's hair, and Will pushes into the touch, feeling ridiculous for being jealous of a book. He wants all of Hannibal's attention. 

Eventually, his thoughts turn to earlier conversations, last night's events. The control that Hannibal exhibits is so far beyond anything Will could’ve ever imagined being on the receiving end of, let alone the tenderness he showed Will. One day, he hopes, Hannibal will take him to his limit. He wants to feel heavy implements, experience different scenarios and scenes. 

His breathing speeds as he thinks of Hannibal displaying him for a crowd. Using tool after tool to break open his skin, let everyone see exactly what Hannibal does to him. 

“Would you like to share those thoughts, boy? They must be quite interesting.” 

Will's face burns with embarrassment even as his cock thickens from Hannibal's tone. 

“Thinking of you, Sir. Of- of the things I'd like you to do to me. With me.”

Casually, Hannibal straightens his legs, pushing one out slightly further. “Go on, then.”

The implication is so painfully clear, Will goes bright red again and swallows hard. Slowly, he moves forward and turns his body until he's straddling Hannibal's calf. He doesn't dare look up, scared he'll combust from mortification or arousal. Maybe both. 

The breath he releases when his cock slides against the smooth fabric of Hannibal's pants is shaky, same as his hands when they grip Hannibal's thighs. He presses close, trapping his erection between his belly and Hannibal's leg. 

He thrusts, once, gently but oh, how filthy it feels. His heart pounds. 

“Tell me of these things,” Hannibal says, turning the page of his book. He seems perfectly disinterested and that only fuels Will's desire even more.

Will pushes his face into Hannibal's knee, squirming and trying so hard not to moan. Even the tips of his ears are burning. 

“I- in public, Sir,” Will mutters, unable to keep his hips still. “I want people to see how you break me apart, and put me back together again,” he moans deeply when his cock throbs. “How you destroy me in the- oh- best ways possible.”

“Look at you, rutting against my leg like a bitch in heat.”

Will's flush spreads to his chest, and he can feel himself leaking. What's wrong with me, enters his mind briefly, being so aroused from such humiliation but it's gone just as quick when he notices Hannibal's hand clenched into a fist. 

Not so unaffected, then.

Will makes a show of it after that, arching his back further and rolling his hips in a manner he hopes is sensual. He drags his hand up Hannibal's inner thigh, slowly, and his thrusts stutter for a moment when he finds Hannibal hard in his trousers. 

“Everyone would want a taste, you know,” Hannibal breathes, slouching a bit further in his chair to widen his legs. “They'd ache to get inside of you, once they saw.”

“Would- would you let them, Sir?” Will asks, shaking. He's growing closer every second. 

Hannibal releases a sharp breath, gripping Will's hair. “At this current moment, boy, I'd eviscerate anyone that dare lay their eyes upon you.”

Any embarrassment Will felt moments before vanished as though it was never there. He pushes flush against Hannibal's leg and moans obscenely, grinding as his hand curls around Hannibal's cock.

“Are you going to come, my dear? Make a mess of my trousers with your debauchery?”

“So close, Sir, please, let me-”

“No.”

Will sobs and the denial only pushes him closer. “Sir, I can't. Please, you have to-”

“I have to do nothing. Stop.”

Will turns his head to sink his teeth into his own palm, groaning as he forces his hips backwards. He can feel his cock leaking heavily and his bones rattle with the strain of staving his orgasm. 

“Good boy. Come up here.”

Both knees creak when he stands, still shaking as he sits sideways across Hannibal's lap. The heat in Hannibal's unwavering stare brings a fresh blush to Will's cheeks, and he focuses hard on the top of his feet. 

“Should this be your first lesson in orgasm control?”

“Will it matter if I say no?”

He feels too heavy on Hannibal's legs, awkward and fidgety. Hannibal hums and wraps his warm hand around Will's cock, stroking lightly. Gasping, Will sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, hard, and grips Hannibal's forearm. 

“Have you ever experienced it before?”

“Just- just my own attempts,” Will whispers, hips straining into Hannibal's touch. “I never lasted long, though.”

He can feel Hannibal's cock pressing against him. He wants it in his hand, inside him, in every way possible. There's never been a time that he's been so desperate for someone before meeting Hannibal. 

“I enjoy your pleasure far too much,” Hannibal says, almost wistfully, twisting his wrist over the head of Will's cock. “Lean back.”

Will is thankful it's a wide chair, but his head still hangs over one side as he reclines across Hannibal's lap. The angle raises his hips over the other side, and makes him feel ridiculous. Hannibal doesn't seem bothered, however, as he uses his free hand to pinch Will's nipple between his fingers, applying intense pressure. 

“Sir,” Will breathes, cheeks red from how his head is tilted. 

“Breathplay is a topic we should've broached earlier,” Hannibal says, relenting his torture of Will's chest to wrap his hand around Will's stretched throat. 

“It's fine, I promise. More than fine,” Will rambles, swallowing hard. 

He can feel more than hear Hannibal's chuckle. “I trust absolutely nothing you say to me when you're like this, sweet boy. It is something we'll discuss, however.”

“I mean everything I say when I'm like this, Sir. This is- it's just who I am.”

Hannibal's grip tightens immediately, crushing strength and Will's cock throbs. But it's gone just as fast. 

“My bedroom, please.”

**

Will is pretty sure he sprinted to Hannibal's bed, and he hopes that one day, the haziness that comes with his space eases because he's somehow missed Hannibal removing his shirt and acquiring a leather strap. 

“This is, most likely, the lightest of instruments I'll ever use on you. Even my hand will create more pain,” he says lowly, directing Will to stretch out on his stomach. “I'm going to restrain you, but no gags. If at any point you're uncomfortable, you know your word. Telling me to stop will get you nowhere, understood?”

Will nods, unable to speak. His cock hurts, and every part of his body is tense. Hannibal pulls cuffs from beneath his bed and slips them over Will's ankles. As he moves above Will to reach for the wrist restraints, Will can't stop himself from reaching up and dragging his fingers down Hannibal’s chest and stomach. 

At Hannibal's grin, Will says, “You're always touching me but I don't get to touch you enough.”

“Would you like to explore me, boy?” Hannibal asks, running his thumb over Will's lips. At Will's nod, he continues, “tomorrow. As long as you'd like. If you're an obedient slave this evening, of course.”

Slave. Will moans and arches his back to press his cock into the bed. 

Once his wrists are secured, Hannibal says, “I think I could keep you like this forever. Chained to my bed, aching for me. I'd never tire of it.”

Then without warning, the first comes across Will's left shoulder blade, a slicing burn. 

“Fuck,” Will groans, rolling his shoulders as much as possible. The slack is limited. 

The next strike is gentle, a feather light slip of leather over his skin. Will tries not to hold to his breath as the third hit is hard again. Will loses count at twelve. 

“Beautiful,” Hannibal murmurs. “I could fill my days recreating your likeness, yet still never fully capture it. The way your skin blooms from pain is hypnotic.”

“Harder,” Will grunts, teeth clenched.

“Forgive me, boy, was that a request?” Hannibal's voice has an edge that ties Will's stomach in knots, and his touch only becomes lighter once more.

“Please, Sir, hit me harder? I want- I want so much more, please.”

“I could do just this for hours. My arms rarely tire. Or I could walk away, right now. Leave you here aching with nothing but your thoughts while I start prepping dinner.”

Immediately, Will's heart climbs into his throat and constricts, stealing any breath he has left in his lungs. 

“Sir, don't- don't do that, please, I'm begging. Don't leave me here, please, I can't-” His words break off, unable to rationalize what he's feeling and he shakes his head.

“You could,” Hannibal vows, striking Will's ass, hard. “But I would sooner see the earth shatter than look away from you. Let me hear you, boy.”

Will's sigh of relief bleeds into a groan when the leather catches the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Hannibal marks him from shoulders to knees, varying intensity from feather-light brushes to searing strikes, and Will's mind becomes a home of white noise. 

The only sounds to be heard are those of Will's pleasure-pain, snapping leather and deep moans, until eventually, he's incapable of even whimpering because he's merely a being of pure sensation. Aches and tightness and unadulterated joy. No voice, no thoughts, only existing to please his Sir.

“Talk to me, dear. How are you feeling?” 

The strikes have stopped and he feels Hannibal's hand ghosting down his back, finding the welts to draw a gentle noise from Will. He's so warm.

It takes him three breaths to find his voice. “Amazing, Sir. Please, don't stop.” He wants to feel this for eternity. 

“Any more and I'll draw blood,” Hannibal explains softly, releasing the cuffs from Will's ankles. “Though I'm sure you wouldn't mind, there are reasons I'm not going that far. Yet.”

Another noise leaves Will as Hannibal frees his wrists, both shoulders aching deeply from the position, but also Hannibal's promise. Will wants to bleed for him.

“Soon, however, I'll lick the blood spatter from your shoulder blades as I take you from behind. I can't wait to see how the color contrasts with the blue-black of my bruises upon you.” 

“Please, fuck me now, Sir. Please,” Will begs, twisting his hips involuntarily. “I want it so much.” 

“Subspace looks devastatingly attractive on you, boy. Every barrier drops and I get the privilege of seeing you unfiltered. You’d do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you?” 

Blushing profusely, Will closes his eyes and nods, teeth digging into his bottom lip. It’s an uncomfortable truth, but a truth nonetheless. He would do anything if it meant pleasing Hannibal, and that thought isn’t nearly as terrifying as it was just the night before. 

“I can truthfully say I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you in this moment. You can't imagine how often I thought of you like this.”

Will feels warm fingers slip into him and he moans softly, licking the dryness from his lips as he arches up. One, then two, and he's fearful he might come from just this alone. Everything is so heightened that he thinks he might even be able to hear Hannibal's heart, if he listens close enough. 

The solid weight of Hannibal drapes across him, all muscle and sinful lines that he wants to trace with his tongue, watch them twitch and quiver beneath his attention. 

“Will,” Hannibal whispers as he slides in, lips pressed to the back of Will's neck. It's a painful stretch, and Hannibal is moving so slowly. Will arches up, reaching up to press his palms against the headboard. 

“So good, Sir. You're so good.”

Hannibal rolls sensually into him, full strokes in and out, his damp mouth dragging over Will's heated skin. “Your existence is inconceivable. You shouldn't be possible.”

Will's cock is positively throbbing, leaking steadily, but he feels no need to touch. He knows he'll come just from this; the smooth glide of the sheets and Hannibal pushing so deep into him. It's more than he could've ever dreamed of. It's perfect. 

“Faster, please?” He breathes, curling his fingers to dig crescents into his palms. “I want you to come, Sir. Inside- I want to feel it, please-”

It's practically instantaneous, Will can feel Hannibal's entire demeanor change. He shoves in hard with a growl, pushing himself up with one hand on Will's shoulder and the other coming to wrap around Will's throat. 

“You drive me mad with desire, boy,” he groans, fucking Will faster. “Don't come.”

“I'm trying, Sir, but you feel- it's so- oh, Sir, please, don't stop.”

“Manipulative,” Hannibal breathes, gripping the headboard to drive into Will faster. His rattling breath is like liquid fire in Will's veins. “I should deny you just for that, but you're utterly impossible to say no to.”

“I don't want to disobey you, Sir, please, let me-”

“Now, Will, with me.” Hannibal tilts his hips just right, pulls Will's head back by his hair, and Will becomes nothingness. 

He's positive he'll never come this hard again. Full body orgasms are something he's heard of, but to experience it is something different. His toes curl, his stomach clenches repeatedly, his cock jolts and throbs between his belly and the sheets. He's pretty sure he screams. 

By the time he's aware again, Hannibal is pressing sweet kisses to the back of his neck. “You are exquisite, Will.”

“Sir,” Will mumbles into the sheets, still half-heartedly pressing his hips up. He feels like he's been drugged. 

There's a shower, another pair of Hannibal's pajamas pants, a light snack of grapes and cheese, something about Will's preference for breakfast. They're back in bed before Will is truly aware again. 

“Will that ever get better? How far away I get after a scene?”

He's tucked against Hannibal's side, slightly turned and chin resting over Hannibal's ribs so that he can see Hannibal's face. 

“I sincerely hope not,” Hannibal smiles. 

“I do enjoy having accurate memories of things, you know,” Will grins. 

“It could lessen with more exposure. The longer you spend in subspace, the more likely you are to get used to it. However, I've never seen a submissive that delves as deep as you do, so I could be wrong.”

Will hums and purses his lips. He loves his space, but he feels like he's missing important details that he'd love to recall later. If he had to choose, though, he wouldn't miss those memories too terribly.

“Now that you're more alert, and trustworthy,” Hannibal smirks, “how are you feeling about today?”

“Amazing,” Will answers immediately, shifting to lay on his side against Hannibal. “It was so much more than I ever imagined, honestly. So much better.”

“Did you ever get close to using your word?”

Will shakes his head. “I couldn't get enough. I think you could've opened me up and I'd have asked to share my blood with you. I just wanted more.”

At Hannibal's silence, he looks up to find a blank expression that morphs into burning passion. “I do believe that you were created solely to be mine, boy.” He squeezes Will tighter for a moment. “Do you remember begging me not to leave you alone?”

“Yeah,” Will sighs. “I wasn't… expecting that. It felt like- if you'd left me, I'd fall apart. Or disappear. I don't know.” Will shakes his head and looks down, embarrassment clawing at his chest. 

“And now we have a limit we were not previously aware of, and I'm excruciatingly proud of you,” Hannibal says softly, tightening his hold. 

Will could burst from happiness. 

Just before he drifts off, he has an errant thought:

I thought falling in love was supposed to hurt. 

**

Sometime in the night, Will wakes. He's delightfully sore, everywhere, but surprisingly alert. As quietly as possible, he leaves the bed. 

Without the distraction of Hannibal’s proximity, Will can take in the finer details of Hannibal's decor. It's oddly twisted, but somehow, comforting. Will feels like he belongs amongst these armless statues and hollowed skulls. 

The library is as magnificent as he thought, now that he sees it without the sexual haze. Shelves and shelves of books that Will couldn't even begin to get through. Hannibal has probably read all of them, twice. 

He smiles as he runs his fingers over the edges, touching years and years of history. They're categorized, of course, by genre, and alphabetized by author. 

He chuckles, quietly. Hannibal. 

Then, he remembers the drawing from earlier, and makes his way to the desk, butterflies in his stomach. 

If he could bottle a fraction of Hannibal’s talent, he'd sell it and never have to work again. Slowly, reverently, he picks up the sheet, wondering how Hannibal could ever see him the way he appears on this paper. 

It's unfathomable. Will is beyond flawed, and could never come close to the Greek god Hannibal drew him as. 

He's going to ask him to throw it away. It makes Will feel, well, he's not sure. But it's uncomfortable. He can't possibly compare to Hannibal's fantasy.

He sets it off to the side, determined not to look at it again. 

There are more drawings. A woman, sitting with perfect posture in a high back chair, a glass of wine in her hand. A bearded man in an ill fitting suit. A recreation of the Wound Man. 

Will frowns and picks up the last page. It's… very odd thing to recreate. With such excruciating detail, even. Then again, Hannibal is an odd and fascinating creature. He sets it back down. 

One last page, but not a drawing. A letter, or a program of some sort from The Church of Immaculate Christ. Will scans it briefly, curious why Hannibal would have anything from a church. Will didn't read him as very religious. 

And then time stops. The earth drops from under him. His heart crawls into his throat. At the bottom, there's a highlighted passage.

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm; for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.”

The last Ripper victim…

“Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Hannibal used a condom. Yes, it's supposed to be jumpy and sort of run on, because subspace is a helluva drug, for real. Yes, I really did a cliff hanger and I'm only a little sorry. I really love all of you, though.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length of this chapter will be a shock to the system after the novels I've written per chapter before it but, rest assured, next chapter is already pushing 6k words, and I'm not half-way done. Also, the lack of outer detail here is intentional. You'll understand next chapter.
> 
> This chapter is unbeta-d as I will be going on a trip in a few hours and wanted to get this posted first, so apologies for errors. Still giving a loud shout out to @damnslippyplanet for offering her services and basically just being an A+ human being.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Hannibal,” Will whispers, feeling his legs shake violently. He’s pretty sure if he looks down, he’ll see the ground quaking beneath his feet. “Please. Please, tell me I’m wrong.”

Hannibal looks at Will as though he’s a spooked horse. He’s holding his arms out slightly, palms up, and he’s taking very tentative steps forward. “You could be. This could all be a coincidence. Or a dream. It could be whatever we wish to make it.”

And isn’t that _really_ all the confirmation Will needs?

“You’re the Ripper. You- this whole time, it’s been- and we-” Will’s quickly plunging into a panic attack, his throat constricting as he tries, and fails, to breathe. “I told you- told you things, Hannibal. Things I’ve n-never told anyone about- and you just- you-”

Will’s back hits the wall before he even realizes that he’s moved at all, and Hannibal is still slowly advancing toward to him, looking for all the world like he actually feels _remorse_.

Distantly, somewhere in Will’s frazzled mind, he recalls that the Ripper is a sociopath - _there’s no name for what he is_ \- and couldn’t, wouldn’t feel remorse. He took surgical trophies and kept-

Will is proud he doesn’t heave onto the floor. The sudden realization is dizzying.

“You- you eat them,” Will chokes. “You fed them to me. Right? That’s what you take the trophies for.”

“Everything between us, Will, has been truth. I’ve never lied to you about anything. This is real. Please, give me a chance to-”

“What, explain?” Will exclaims, exasperated. His hands are going numb. _You need to breathe. Breathe._ “Explain how you’re a murdering cannibal? Explain how you let me lie there, pouring my heart out to you about these- these things in my head about- about _you_ \- and fuck, Hannibal, I just- but I just  _found_ you.”

The tears come, then, Will notes with a bit of disgust. They slide hot and wretched over his cheeks, tasting of betrayal. “I just found you and now you’ll be- you’re gonna be-,” he whispers again, raggedly, burying his face in his hands.

He wonders if, anatomically, a heart can actually break.

“Will,” Hannibal whispers back, close enough to pull Will’s hands from his face. His eyes look… so sad, and Will feels another bubble of disgust that he wants to console him. “I have to mention that you seem far more upset by the prospect of me going to prison, than about the crimes I’ve committed.”

His tone is painfully gentle, and his fingers on Will’s face burn like fire. Like desolation. Will can’t even deny the non-accusation. The thought of Hannibal behind bars brings back that panicked feeling, and Will is suddenly so angry.

“You son of a bitch,” Will spits, forcibly shoving Hannibal away from him. “You heartless son of a bitch. Did it ever occur to you that I might find out? Did you even consider what it would do to me? What I’ll be like after this? After… everything?”

Will shakes his head and wraps his arms tight around his middle. Maybe it’ll hold his pieces together. He’d hate to fall apart in front of Hannibal. The collar on his neck is suddenly very heavy.

Hannibal visibly swallows and looks down, fists clenching at his sides. When he speaks again, his voice is hushed. “Do you intend to call Jack?”

Will laughs, entirely without humor, totally hysterical. “Concerned about your freedom, most of all.” He shakes his head, and lies. “You know I can’t do that, Hannibal.”

It occurs to him that he’s probably not going to make it out of Hannibal’s house alive tonight. The thought should probably bother him. There’s lots of _probably_ going through his head, but he can’t find the strength to care.

“Will, I think-”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m going to get dressed, you’re going to take this _lie_ from around my neck, and then I don’t ever want to see you again. Is that clear?”

He’s going to call Jack the minute he’s safely out the door. He will. He has too.

Hannibal closes his eyes, brow furrowing as he takes a deep breath. Will wants to cut his throat and rid the world of his destruction. Will wants to kiss the frown from his lips and rid his mind of all despair. Will wants a lot of things.

“I shouldn’t let you leave, Will.”

Despite the words, Will knows that’s exactly what Hannibal is going to do and that wretched part of him flairs up again and reminds Will that if Hannibal were truly a monster, he would kill Will without a second thought.

“I’m not giving you an option. I’m- I’ll quit. I’ll quit the job so that I never have to look at your crimes again. I’ll move. I’ll isolate myself. Whatever it takes, because God fucking forbid I actually turn you in. How could I ever fucking live with myself?”

He’ll live with himself just fine. _You’ll hate yourself_. The world will be rid of a terrible creature. _You’ll be alone again_.

“I’m going to get my things.”

A sane, rational person would never turn their back on a serial killer. They would never walk to that serial killer’s bedroom and calmly change clothes. They would never look at that serial killer’s bed and cry anew about all the things they’ll never have again.

Will is not a sane, rational person. He never has been, truly.

When Hannibal walks back in, Will is dressed in his own clothes and his bag is on his shoulder. Slowly, Hannibal hands Will his cell phone that he’d taken the day before.

“Will, please-”

“Get this fucking thing off me,” Will says, and he wants so badly for those words to be venom-laced. They just sound pathetically sad.

He bites his lip to stop the tears, and his fingernails make crescents in his palms as he hears the click of the lock coming undone. The collar slides down his chest and drops to the floor with a muted thump, and Will’s breath hitches from his chest, unbidden.

Suddenly, Hannibal’s arms are tight around him, and still, Will feels no fear. If this is how he dies, he hopes to kiss Hannibal one last time before he goes. But Hannibal doesn’t squeeze or bite Will’s throat out. He just rests his forehead on Will’s shoulder, and trembles.

“Please, beloved. You see me now, entirely. Do you genuinely hate it so much? Have I truly been so wrong?”

The sob that comes from Will’s throat is raw and unwanted. He’s trying so hard to hold himself together, and it’s quickly unraveling. He’s got to leave, or he won’t. Both options make the sharp ache behind his ribs just a bit brighter. He’s got to call Jack.

Hannibal spins him around and cups his cheeks, pressing his lips to Will’s gently.

“How could you?” Will breathes, gripping Hannibal’s shirt in his fists. _Kill me. Don’t let me leave. Don’t let me call Jack_. “How could you let me fall so fast, Sir?”

Their foreheads are touching and Hannibal is panting, like he’s been fighting. _Or killing_. Will feels like he might black out.

“Because I can catch you, Will. Because I’ve fallen just as-”

“No,” Will bites out, pulling free from Hannibal’s embrace. Feigning strength. “No. Someone like you could never truly feel anything for anyone.”

Will steps around him and makes his way for the door. Hannibal doesn’t turn around but his body flinches when Will adds, “And I could never feel anything for someone like you.”

He doesn’t look back as he practically runs for the front door. He doesn’t cry as he continues sprinting to his car. He doesn’t wait to see if Hannibal comes after him as he drives off too quickly.

But he does let go, and his pieces do scatter.

He’ll call Jack tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and sorry for the angst. If you're not a fan of said angst, feel free to skip the next 2 chapters and I'll happily email you a summary so you can pick back up on chapter 9 without worry. Take care of yourselves, darlings.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of eating disorders and similar themes related to such. If that's not your thing, I'll happily summarize the chapter for you so you can move on to the next when it's posted.
> 
> Huge thanks, as always, to damnslippyplanet for the edits. My writing is trash before her, y'all, you don't understand.

“Out, out, out.” Will ushers the dogs through the front door, balancing food bowls on his arms and trying not to trip over Buster. The wind is too cool against his cheeks, and he shivers, absently wondering why he’s constantly chilled these days.

He notices one of his shutters has a loose screw, making it hang skewed and crooked. There’s a few shingles out of place on his roof, an unbalanced board on his porch and vines growing up the side of his house that need to be cut down. With a sigh, he steps back through the front door to grab his tool box.

He’d been meaning to fix all of these things before now but the energy is just never there. By the time he gets home and finishes grading and curriculum for upcoming weeks, he just wants to sleep. The weekend has turned into more time that he can, well, sleep. ‘Catching up’ just seems impossible, at this point. He’s always so tired.

Dread creeps into his stomach when he hears the crunch of gravel and the dogs barking. Tool box in hand, he walks back out front and irrationally hopes it’s someone that managed to get lost. Of course, it’s never that simple.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here, Alana?”

She smiles, never bothered by his prickliness. “I thought I’d come pry into your private life. Maybe ask you some uncomfortable questions, see if I can still make you squirm.”

Will smiles back, despite himself, and sets the toolbox on his porch. “Seems like fun. Did Jack send you?”

“I sent me,” she shrugs, stepping up to scratch behind Winston’s ears. “Let’s have coffee.”

“Oh, that serious?” Will chuckles, trying to swallow back the bile that rises in his throat at the mention of coffee. “All right, come on. Leave the door open for them.”

He should probably care about the state of his house but, well, he didn’t invite her here and honestly, he doesn’t rightly care if the strewn clothes and dog hair bother her. She takes a seat at the table and grins down at the horde of animals surrounding her.

“That’s enough, go play.”

Luckily, he had attempted to have a cup of coffee earlier in the day, and it’s still warm. He really doesn’t feel like dragging this conversation out any longer than absolutely necessary. He pours her a cup and hopes she doesn’t mind it black.

“So,” she starts and he hands it to her, a patient expression on her face.

“So.” He replies, sitting down across from her.

“How are you, Will?”

“Are we in therapy?” Will asks with a small smile.

“Oh, no,” she smirks. “We both know I could never be your therapist.”

“Ah, yes,” he sighs. “Feelings, and all that.”

She nods, slightly blushing and Will vaguely remembers a time when he would’ve found that annoyingly endearing. “Exactly. So, how are you?”

“I’m… alive. Making it. Surviving. The same as everybody else.” He licks his lips and braces himself. “Tell me why you’re really here, Alana.”

“It was brought to my attention yesterday that some people are worried about your mental health. And your physical.”

He can’t keep the confused look off his face. “Everyone always worries about my mental health - I’m too unstable, remember? But my physical health is a new one. And by someone, I’m going to assume you mean Jack.”

“No, actually,” she shakes her head. “A student. Or ten. You have lost a bit of weight over the last few weeks, Will. You look exhausted.”

“Well, I am.” He hates that she’s making him feel so defensive. He’s an adult, he shouldn’t feel like a scolded child from one conversation. “I’m getting old, Alana. My sleep pattern is shit because I have nightmares like a trauma victim. I don’t bounce back like I used to. But I’m fine. As fine as I can be, at least.”

She nods, slowly, and purses her lips. For a moment, she looks like she’s tasted something sour and then takes a controlled breath before speaking again. “Have you seen Hannibal recently?”

There it is. That explains the sour taste. Not that anyone was ever told about his personal relationship with Hannibal, but he can tell by the look on her face that whatever she’s going to say next, will certainly allude to it, if not outright bring it up.

“Not for about a month now.”

“I have,” she says, trying to force eye contact. “He looks worse than you do, if you can believe it. Hell, I would’ve sworn he wasn’t human until I showed up on his door step two days ago.”

 _He’s not human. He’s something else entirely_.

“Get to where you’re going, Alana.”

“Which hemisphere would you like me to start? How absolutely unethical it is that you two clearly had something personal? Or how it’s apparently ended badly and neither one of you are handling it well?”

Will scrubs his hands over his face. “The ‘unethical’ conversation is pointless, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Well, you’re going to get it anyway. He did, so it’s only fair. What the hell were you thinking, Will?”

He doesn’t tell her how nice it felt to be understood. To be wanted. Doesn’t explain that it was the first time he felt _normal_. There’s a lot of things Will doesn’t tell her, the same things he’s never told anyone.

“I was thinking that we’re both adults and can do what we choose to.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, but her tone is very clearly not agreeable. “You’re both adults. One of you a professional wholiterally studies mental nuances and crutches for a living. I’m far more angry with him, by the way.”

And there’s that defensive feeling again. Will has to fight the urge to defend Hannibal’s actions, not even his own. He pictures her standing in Hannibal’s kitchen, yelling at him, and for a very short moment he wants to rip her tongue out. Luckily, it passes quickly.

“Well, it’s not anything you have to worry about anymore.”

She sighs. “This is where we leave behind my professional concerns and move to personal concerns, and where I _don’t_ tell you that if I had known sooner, I would’ve told you that it might end up like this.”

Wrong. She’s wrong. She has no idea what she’s talking about. She thinks things ended over normal, common problems. _It’s not her fault she doesn’t know the truth_. Will takes a calming breath.

“And you would’ve been right.”

“Usually am.”

“Okay, then, take joy in that and move on, Alana. I have.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Will Graham. It’s funny, the stark contrast between the two of you. I would’ve expected your approaches to a breakup to be swapped.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s falling apart. I mean, as much as Hannibal Lecter falls apart.” She clasps her hands together on top of the table. “He’s taking a break from his practice, and he had about four days’ worth of stubble on his face. I’ve never even seen him in casual clothes, let alone unkempt. He was rude to me, even.”

Will closes his eyes against the image. That bright ache behind his ribs makes its presence known once again.

“He probably didn’t enjoy you showing up uninvited and angry.”

She smiles, smug. “And there’s you, stone-faced and stoic. Driving on like everything’s fine.”

“Everything is fine.”

“I just would’ve expected it to be the other way around.”

Will laughs, humorless. “What, that’d I’d be curled in the fetal position and crying while he continues his lavish dinner parties and fulfills societal expectations?”

 

_Dinner parties that you’ve attended. You’ve eaten with him, too._

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, it was all very dramatic the last time we spoke. You can rest easy knowing that you were right about that, as well.”

“Will,” she says, nearly looking reprimanded. “I don’t want you to be in pain. You can talk to me, you know? Or we could not talk, and just be. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

_I am alone. And I don’t feel anything._

“I just don’t see how I missed it for so long.”

“Not that long,” he assures her. “It all happened and ended pretty quickly.”

That only makes her look more concerned, and skeptical. “Must’ve been… pretty intense for a short affair.”

 _Affair_. Will hates that fucking word. It’s so belittling.

“I’m fine, Alana. Everything is fine.”

He wonders how many times he’ll have to say it before it makes it true.

When the dogs start barking again, Will raises an eyebrow at her.

Her hands go up. “Not for me.”

Slowly and full of dread once more, he walks to the front, and his stomach bottoms out when he sees Hannibal’s Bentley parked beside Alana’s car. Immediately, his hands start to shake.

“I just want it known that I did not tell him to come here, before you throw daggers at me,” Alana says from behind him.

Hannibal emerges from the car, and Will is nearly positive his eyes are no longer trustworthy. He looks, well, as Alana had said, terrible. _As much as Hannibal Lecter falls apart._

He’s in his usual attire - full suit, long coat - but his hair is longer and falls into his eyes, which even from a distance look bloodshot. He definitely hasn’t shaved in a few days. When he looks up at Will, his brow creases slightly, and his feet all but drag across the gravel.

The worst part of it all is that Will has to fight the urge to reach up and push his hair from his face the moment he’s within reach.

“Hello, Will.”

Will swallows around the lump in his throat and tries to speak back. Tries to tell him to leave or that he missed him or that he’s going to finally turn him in. Nothing comes, he can only stare.

Alana steps out onto the porch and speaks first. “I really should take this opportunity to yell at you both simultaneously as I’ll probably never get the chance again, but I won’t.” Sighing, she looks at Will with that stern, motherly expression on her face. “Will, call me, stop by, send smoke signals. Let me know you’re alive, please.”

She barely even nods in Hannibal’s direction.

“Alana,” he says, bowing his head as she passes to walk down the steps.

Silently, they watch her pull out from the driveway. Hannibal speaks first.

“May I come in?”

“I - I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Will replies, shakily. “What are you doing here, Hannibal?”

“I’m not entirely sure, if I’m being honest. I simply got in my car to escape the quietness of home and this is where I ended up. It was not my original destination.”

He’s standing so close, and Will can smell the traces of his cologne, wants to bury his face in Hannibal’s chest until he can get a better grasp on that scent. He should call Jack. He should’ve called Jack a month ago. He should’ve done a lot of things.

Sighing, he clenches his eyes shut for a moment before relenting and moving to the side, letting Hannibal walk in. Once more, he sends the dogs back out to play and watches Hannibal take tentative steps through his living room.

“I assume Alana gave you the same speech she gave me?”

“Probably not as fiercely but I did get a lecture.”

Hannibal nods to himself, just barely looking at Will over his shoulder. “She cares a great deal about you.”

Will doesn’t have anything to say to that - he knows she does, but he also knows that she considers him broken, which will always leave a bitter aftertaste.

“How have you been?”

Will laughs and crosses his arms over chest. “Great. Peachy. Spectacular. If you’re here to question whether or not I’ve told Jack, I think you can tell that I haven’t, as you’re still walking around.”

Eventually, Hannibal turns around to face Will fully, and he looks so much older than the last time Will saw him. Beaten down.

“Why haven’t you?” He asks softly, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t fucking know, Hannibal,” Will admits, begrudgingly. “I don’t know.”

He’s spent the last month trying to make that phone call and every time, he changes his mind. Every time, he thinks of Hannibal’s face, the hurt that would be etched across it. Thinks of the vile things that would happen to him in prison. But in the end, it’s always the realization that Hannibal would hate him that makes him put down the phone.

_The Chesapeake Ripper, saved by an overly emotional fool._

“I should’ve brought you dinner. You look so thin, Will.”

Will cringes. “I don’t have your appetite,” he replies, voice filled with disdain . “You should leave.”

_It hurts to look at you. I see you so clearly now, and it hurts. It hurts that I don’t care as much as I should about the things you’ve done._

Hannibal stares at him for a few long moments, utterly silent, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Will steps to the side as Hannibal moves for the front door, and shoves his hands in his pockets for fear of reaching out and pulling Hannibal to him, kissing that devastated look off his face.

Just before Hannibal reaches the threshold, he stops and turns back around, finally looking directly at Will. “When I sat on this very porch and expressed my adoration for you, that was absolute truth. Unfortunately, those emotions do not just disappear. When you returned my sentiments, when you confessed that my demons were creatures you’d like to meet, were you lying? Or are you lying now?”

Will’s breath catches in his throat and again, he’s unable to form a response. There’s too much going on in his mind, too many questions he’s buried and ignored, because he’s not ready to accept certain truths. If he doesn’t acknowledge them, he can pretend they’re not real. He can pretend that Alana wasn’t right when she labeled him.

He _is_ lying now, to himself. To Hannibal. To everyone. And he’ll keep that lie as long as possible, because the truth is far too terrifying for him to take.

“Goodbye, Hannibal.”

He shuts the door and fights the urge to listen through it for anything Hannibal might say or do. Clutches at his chest in hopes of stopping that awful pain behind his ribs that threatens to suffocate him. He heads straight for the bottle of whiskey he keeps next to his bed.

He prays it’ll last him through the night.

~******~

The mornings have become painfully chilly, and Will pulls his coat tighter around himself as he walks from his car to his class.

He finds himself eyeing everyone that looks at him for a moment too long, wondering which of them could have ran and tattled to Alana about his not-so-new insanity.

He knew he'd become a bit more harsh to his students. He was so easily agitated these days. Regardless, he hadn't thought his personality had changed that much. Or, rather, that he was getting back to his old self. A little over a month was pretty quick, he thought.

The first few days were the worst. After he'd stormed out of Hannibal's that night, he'd essentially curled into a useless ball for three days. Warring with himself to call Jack, go back to Hannibal, run away. Everything hurt. Slowly, the memory of his discovery, their words, became clearer. It was as though his brain couldn't process the full situation as it happened, couldn't download until he was removed from influences.

The part he hates the most is that Hannibal had seen him cry. If there's anything he could take back, it'd be that.

Eventually, he’d forced himself out of bed and refused to take any more of his sick days. He went to class, did his lectures, tried to teach his students to be more observant than he was. The idea of calling Jack seemed like less and less of a possibility as the days went on.

He was thankful there were no new cases, including the Ripper. He'd stopped in the middle of his sounder, but Will forced himself not to think about the reason why.

Still, he found himself going over all of the case files he had for Hannibal's murders. He could see it - see _him_  so clearly, in the finer details. The little jokes that Hannibal must have found hilarious, while everyone else scratched their heads. Whether it be in the positioning or the method of torture.

The blanks spots of the Ripper’s crimes are now vividly filled in, with Hannibal taking the shape of the shadow in Will's subconscious.

It's a specific brand of irony that the terrifying creature who invaded Will's headspace and kept him company on particularly bad days turned out to be the magnificent man that helped keep him sane.

Will presses his fingers to his temple as he sits on his desk. His head pounds relentlessly this morning, and he feels terrifyingly close to outright disassociating. He barely remembers the drive here.

He'd been supposed to do another lecture on the Ripper for weeks now. He keeps putting it off.

When he stands, a strong wave of dizziness hits him, and he clutches the desk for support. _Should've had coffee this morning._ It passes just as he hears one of his students come in.

“You okay, Professor?”

“I'm fine,” Will sighs, looking up to see exactly who it is. With that tone, he's sure she's one of the ‘concerned.’

He spins around to find-

-nothing. The world goes black.

*~~~~~*

The first Will becomes aware of is the beeping. It’s insistent, painfully loud. The next thing is the sensation of someone holding his hand, tightly. Smooth fingers, larger than his own. Hands he learned to recognize rather quickly. There’s a moment or two where he just lies there, eyes still closed, because he knows when he opens them, he’ll see a hospital room. He’ll see Hannibal, sitting next to him, in a hospital room. He just wants to enjoy having his hand held for a moment longer.

But eventually, he opens his eyes because he has to. And there’s Hannibal, looking worn down, sitting next to Will’s hospital bed, holding Will’s hand. Hannibal inhales sharply when he sees Will is awake.

“All right,” Will sighs before Hannibal can speak, voice rough and scratchy. “Can we just pretend that everything is normal between us for the next ten minutes? Can you just kiss me and tell me I’m going to be okay?”

Hannibal looks for all the world like he might cry, and he breathes a laugh. Quickly, he stands over Will and leans down, pressing his lips to Will’s gently before resting their foreheads together.

“You’re malnourished. You passed out in class because… because you’re not eating. Or drinking much, apparently, as you’re also dehydrated.”

Though his arms feel triple the weight they should, he manages to reach up and touch Hannibal’s cheek. He’s so _happy_ Hannibal is here. It makes his heart hurt.

Hannibal kisses him again, and again, slowly and reverently, and Will can feel him trembling.

“Alana called me. She’s very angry. She’ll be here this evening.”

“Mhmm,” Will murmurs, enjoying the sensation of Hannibal’s fingers in his hair. “You feel nice.”

The pendulum swings. They’re not in a hospital and he’s not ill. They’re in Hannibal’s bed, wrapped around one another. There’s a solid weight against Will’s throat, a promise that he’ll always be cared for. He’s warm and safe and happy.

He keeps his eyes closed. He’ll keep them closed forever, if they’ll let him.

The scratchy brush across his cheek forces a weak laugh from him. “You need to shave, Sir.”

He feels Hannibal’s chuckle against his forehead. “Hush, my sweet boy, you need to rest.”

A shrill voice brings reality crashing back in, and Will idly wishes the hospital would burn with all of them in it.

“You should’ve called the nurses station when he woke up, you know.”

Hannibal looks down into Will’s eyes, a heated stare as he slowly brings himself to full height once more. Facing the nurse, he politely says, “I was just about to do so.”

“Well, unless you know the exact time he opened his eyes, we won’t have an accurate judgement of when he came to after treatment. Didn’t you say you were a doctor?”

Her hand is on her hip, indignant and rude. Will squeezes Hannibal’s hand, trying desperately to rein him in. He can’t see Hannibal’s face very well but his posture is far too still, and knowing what he knows, he can’t imagine it’s good a sign.

“He _is_ a doctor, and I’m fine,” Will interjects, but it sounds too weak to have any true force behind it. Still, he hopes his meaning is clear enough. “Now, if you’ll please get my doctor in here.”

“Yeah, you look fine,” she mutters as she walks toward the door.

“Excuse me, miss, may I have your name?” Hannibal asks, pleasantly.

“It’s Ashley Kinchine. Why?”

“Apologies, you looked like someone I used to know.”

She rolls her eyes and walks out, not even bothering to close the door as she goes. Hannibal is staring where she stood, still not moving.

“Hannibal, don’t,” Will sighs, barely even able comprehend what exactly he’s asking for

Hannibal turns to face him, and his expression is, well, blank, but not the way Will used to love - when he could anticipate Hannibal’s emotion. This look is as though he’s never felt any emotion at all. Inhuman.

“The world would be worse without her rudeness in it?” His tone matches the look, almost. Blank, but a hint of true curiosity beneath.

Will is still so tired, and he can’t muster a proper response. Mostly because he doesn’t have one. If he were talking to anyone but Hannibal, he’d simply mention that murder is wrong, but he’s not. Slowly, he pulls his hand from Hannibal’s and closes his eyes again.

“Ten minutes is up.”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Hannibal deflates immediately. He can feel it, hear it in the way Hannibal sits back down in the chair but doesn’t touch him. They sit in tense silence until someone else enters the room.

“Hello, Mr. Graham, I’m Dr. Duhon. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted. Like I’ve been hit by a truck. How many descriptors are you looking for?”

She smirks at Will’s snarkiness. “That’s plenty. Though, I think, ‘starved nearly to the point of death’ would be a closer statement. What do you think?”

Will exhales heavily and closes his eyes again. “I think you’re being a touch dramatic. We should leave that to him.” He gestures in Hannibal’s direction.

“Oh, so you’ve attended med school, then?” She asks, smiling in a very condescending-but-only-because-you-started-it sort of way. Will likes her. “And the dramatic one is Dr. Lecter, I presume?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Hannibal says, rising to shake her hand. “He considers my concern about him dramatic because he has very little for himself.”

She nods and tosses the clipboard in her hand onto the bed -smacking Will’s feet- and crosses her arms over her chest. “Look, I’m jaded, okay? I see overprotective mothers in here on a daily basis that think their children are going to die from a scratch on their foreheads. I see drug addicts. I see people with chronic illnesses that only come here when they’re moments from death because they won’t bother to keep up with themselves.”

Will feels like a properly scolded child, and immediately drops his hard edge. When she continues, her voice is softer.

“I know you didn’t do this purpose. I know that I will probably never seen you in here again for this problem. I don’t think you have an eating disorder, Mr. Graham, I think you have a lack of focus. I think you’ve got so many things going on at once, or perhaps one big thing going on right now, that self-care was the last thing on your mind.”

Will swallows hard and avoids Hannibal’s eyes at all costs. “That’s… relatively accurate.”

“From what I’ve been told by the local dramatic, you’ve dropped a significant amount of weight in the last month or so. That means your immune system has dwindled to nothing, your organs aren’t functioning properly, and your brain is trying desperately to re-wire because you’ve convinced it that you don’t need nourishment.”

“So, I need a burger is what you’re saying?” Will gives a half-hearted smile.

She sighs, but her mouth curves up the tiniest bit. “I’m not going to refer you to a nutritionist, but I think you might do well with a therapist. Someone that can help bring forth whatever issues are clogging your mind.”

And that does it. Will bursts into laughter, albeit strained and hacking, but laughing nonetheless. _My therapist is standing right next to you_. _By the way, he’s a serial killer_. It couldn’t be more patently ridiculous to Will if it were a soap opera.

Hannibal cuts in, clearing his throat slightly. “I’m his therapist.”

“Oh, you were never my therapist. They were just conversations until we started fucking.”

Hannibal looks at Will with the most adoring expression on his face, and it calms Will’s hysterics slightly.

“Okay, one day, you’re gonna have to come back and tell me that story,” Dr. Duhon says, grinning from ear to ear. “For now, I want to keep you overnight for further observation. At least until we get you properly hydrated.”

Will groans. “I have animals I have to see to. Send me home, I promise to spend my night gorging and drowning myself in fluids.” He puts on his best pleading expression. “Please?”

“I’m told you live alone, and you expect me to trust you? Nevermind that hours ago, you came into my ER unconscious?”

“He’ll stay with me,” Hannibal says, and the tone he uses is something Will thought he’d never hear again. There’s no room for question. _Do as I say, without question, and I’ll give you the world._

Will thinks about objecting. He’s almost positive he even opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He tells himself it’s because he absolutely does not want to spend the night in a hospital bed, worried about his dogs. But deep down, he knows it’s not just that.

“I’ll see to it that he’s taken care of, I assure you,” Hannibal continues.

She’s reluctant but eventually agrees before turning back to Will. “Light, small meals for the next few days until your stomach readjusts. Otherwise, you’ll make yourself sick and it’ll be very counterproductive. And I’m serious, talk to a therapist. One that you’re not fucking.”

Will chuckles, nodding. “I’ll think about it.”

“Take care of yourself, Mr. Graham. With the way this one looks at you, I’d hate to see the fury you’d bring upon this earth if you let yourself waste away.”

That’s not at all what Will needs to hear, but his heart does stupid things anyway.

~****~

“I shouldn’t be here,” Will says as he shakily walks through Hannibal’s front door.

It’s disorienting, the sight and smells of being back someplace he never truly intended to be again. Nearly every room has a memory, and it’s odd when he remembers that it was all done in less than a single weekend. That’s all the time it took for him to become… what he is now.

Suddenly, he feels overwhelmingly pathetic and shakes his head, determined to call a cab and get the hell out of there. This is bad, for both of them.

“I need to see to the dogs, anyway,” he says, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve spoken with your neighbor, she’s agreed to take care of them in your absence,” Hannibal says softly, but there’s a fleeting moment where he looks stricken. “The guest bedroom is already prepared. Stay.”

“I’m not your submissive, Hannibal.”

Hannibal concedes that point with a bow of his head, looking down at his feet for a long moment before he looks back up, wearing a gentle expression. “You’re not my prisoner, either. If you truly want to leave, I’ll bring you home. But I hope you’ll stay and let me take care of you, for just a few days. Please.”

Hannibal looks disgustingly relieved when Will agrees with a nod. He wonders what happened to make Hannibal so easy to read. Before, Hannibal lived his life though micro-expression, barely revealing anything. Now, he's practically an open book, emotionally, at least.

The silence is heavy as he serves Will grilled tilapia and asparagus, with some fancy hydrating smoothie he whipped up. Will eats as quickly as his stomach will allow, at the kitchen counter because the dining room is suffocating. Hannibal eats in the kitchen, as well, and it's glaringly obvious that neither of them are comfortable.

He tries to help clean up, to which Hannibal says, “Please, go lie down. Your body is still recuperating. I can take care of this.”

Will doesn't argue, because he doesn't have the will or the want, so he goes to the guest bedroom and gets settled in. He intended to read or simply be, but he's unable to keep his eyes open for very long.

When he wakes up again, it's dark outside, and he actually _feels_ hungry. Slowly, as quietly as possible, he walks back downstairs, partly hoping that Hannibal has either gone to bed himself or, at the very least, retreated to his study.

Will, of course, is never that lucky and what he sees makes his stomach feel many other things besides hunger.

Hannibal, sitting on his kitchen floor with his back to the fridge, legs sprawled in front of him and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Messy hair, shirt untucked and the first two buttons undone.

“Hello, Will,” he murmurs, his voice rough and sluggish.

“Is this what you intend to do the entire time I’m here?”

“It’s what I do when you’re not here. Never fix something that isn’t broken.”

With a sigh, Will walks over and sits down next to him, close enough for their thighs to be touching. Hannibal immediately rests his head on Will’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Will answers honestly. “Better than I have in weeks.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

Will rests his cheek on the top of Hannibal’s head.

“How did we end up here, Hannibal?”

“I’m unsure, dear.” He sounds sleepy, drugged almost. “I seem to be experiencing quite a bit of uncertainty lately.”

“I believe we had what the novels call a ‘whirlwind romance.’ It all came and went so fast.”

"It's still lingering for me.”

“Me, too,” Will whispers, turning to press his lips to Hannibal's hair. “Do you love me?”

“What I feel for you is closer to obsession. I would consume you, if I could. Live inside of you like a parasite. Erase everything you've ever known that isn't me.”

Will smiles, he can't help it, and feels like a broken boy for finding something so morbid so… romantic. He really, really shouldn't. Then again, he probably shouldn't feel so content sitting on cold tile and nuzzling a serial killer.

“Have you ever thought of killing me?”

Hannibal looks at Will, then, brow furrowed and lips pursed. He’s silent for two beats before he speaks in hushed tones.

“As you slept in my bed mere hours ago. When you stood in my kitchen and declared yourself not my patient. When you left. Right now. My life would be infinitely easier. Then, infinitely meaningless. You're my misery, my love.” He sighs, almost dreamy. “How I can't bear to be without you.”

It’s all purple prose and poetic bullshit but the sincerity in Hannibal’s tone makes Will melt a little, which only serves as further proof that he is, indeed, broken.

“You’ve never had to suffer the consequences of your actions before,” Will says, pointing out the obvious.

“That I’ve never cared about the consequences of my actions would be far more accurate. Until now.”

Hannibal lifts the bottle to his lips again, taking a long pull before Will plucks it from his hand and takes a drink himself.

“That’s a terrible idea, dear, you’ve been dehydrated enough.”

Will laughs. _A caring sociopath._ “I don’t think you’ll let me die on your watch.”

“Never,” Hannibal vows, staring very intently at Will’s mouth. “Not by anything other than my own hand.”

Will’s heart jumps into his throat, and he wishes it was from fear rather than some twisted form of excitement. He sighs heavily, clenching his eyes shut briefly. He supposes normality was never truly an option for him anyway.

“What am I going to do with you?” Will murmurs, setting the bottle down between his legs to cup Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal turns into it like a cat, eyes closed and nuzzling.

“Only you can answer that. I would accept anything you chose, of course.”

Oh, and doesn’t that pique Will’s curiosity?

“What if I chose to kill you?”

Hannibal definitely looks a little dreamy then, staring at Will with intense eyes. “I would only ask that you do it slowly, so I may enjoy your triumph for a time. To see you finally realize your true potential.”

He doesn’t intend to kiss Hannibal. Actually, it hadn’t even been something he’d considered, despite his longing. But he does, and it’s glorious, regardless of the awkward angle. It’s glorious because Hannibal immediately responds with a shocked groan, and it’s music to Will’s ears.

Then Hannibal is knocking the bottle from between Will’s legs, drenching him in whiskey before hauling him to straddle Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal’s fingers are nearly pinching Will’s hips he’s gripping so tightly, and Will can feel him vibrating. Teeth on his bottom lip, tugging and sucking, and Hannibal slides his fingers into Will’s hair to fist it.

“Will. Oh, Will.”

Dizzy and overwhelmed, Will clings to Hannibal’s shoulders, sliding his tongue over Hannibal’s teeth. _Consume_ , Hannibal had said. That’s what Will wants right now. To taste Hannibal, to drain and devour and _eat_ -

“Hannibal, stop, stop,” Will says, panting as he pulls back. “We can’t. _I_  can’t.”

With a thump, Hannibal’s head falls back against the fridge. He’s flushed and so fucking gorgeous. It makes Will sick and angry and so desperate to keep touching him. Slowly, Will climbs out of his lap and stands, trying to ignore his obvious arousal. He can’t look at Hannibal anymore because if he does, he’ll never stop himself. He turns to walk away.

“Will you join me in my bed tonight? Just to sleep,” Hannibal asks lowly, refusing to make eye contact.

“No,” Will answers, resentful that he couldn’t keep his voice steady

Forcing himself to turn away and go to the guest bedroom is much more difficult than he’d like to admit.

Sleep comes fast because he’s still healing, but it’s restless at best. He wishes he could blame nightmares, but it’s really just the thought of Hannibal in his room, alone, probably lying awake, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to damnslippyplanet for the beta while waiting to do great things for the health of our country. My favorite comment through the editing process from her went something like this: 
> 
> "While I would DEFINITELY enjoy seeing Will spank the shit out of Hannibal, I don't think that's what you meant here." 
> 
> She's a gem and I love her dearly.

When Will wakes, he has that pleasant sore feeling from sleeping too much, where the joints and ligaments feel just the right amount of stiff. He sits up, waits for the usual wave of dizziness to hit him, and can’t stop a slight smile when it doesn’t come. His stomach rumbles. He feels, for lack of a better term, human.   
  
The comfort of being well rested retreats as he stands, knowing he has to eat but dreading the uncomfortable small talk and even heavier silences that will accompany the kitchen. He can hear movement, picture Hannibal whipping up something far too fancy for breakfast. His gut tells him to walk downstairs, wrap his arms around the terrifying, stunning, maddening man and kiss him until his knees buckle. Just let go of all the bullshit and enjoy the day in the only true happiness he’s ever known. Just today.    


But it wouldn’t be just one day, and Will knows if he gives at all, he’ll give forever. Sighing, he throws on his t-shirt and tries not to drag his feet. 

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Hannibal doesn’t look any better than he did the night before. He sounds even worse.

“Great, actually. Kind of starving,” Will says, and he means to sit at the counter but finds himself standing next to the stove, closer than he should be. Closer than what could be considered safe. Hannibal still smells of whiskey.

“This is nearly done,” Hannibal replies, but Will isn’t looking at the food. He’s staring at Hannibal’s profile, at the dark circles he can see the edge of.

“Did you even sleep last night?”

“I don't require much sleep.”

But the set of his shoulders says otherwise, the almost sluggish way he moves the spatula in the pan. No one else would notice, Will is sure, because Hannibal is an expert at pretending to be human, but Will sees. Will always sees. He steps in close.

“When's the last time you slept, Hannibal? Truly slept, I mean.” When Hannibal doesn't answer, Will leans around in a desperate attempt to make eye contact. “You were afraid I'd leave last night, weren't you? Did you stay down here, eyes on the door? Look at me.”

Finally, Hannibal does, and he just looks numb.There’s no warmth or pretense of being normal. No facade. Merely a very exhausted monster. Will’s pretty sure that pain behind his ribs is a permanent thing at this point.

“May I finish cooking your breakfast now?” Hannibal asks, flat and monotone. “You need to eat.”

Will feels a devastating void open up in his chest, hearing Hannibal sound that way. A real physical pain as though he'd been punched. 

To hell with what he should do.   

“I can eat later,” he says softly, reaching across to turn the stove off before taking Hannibal's hand and leading the way to Hannibal’s bathroom.

Will tries very hard not to make undressing Hannibal, or himself, any more sexual than the man himself already is. Clinical, but that’s hardly possible with Hannibal’s form. He’s gorgeous. More than that, dangerously ethereal. But he’s nearing the border of gaunt. Will wants to make a snarky comment about someone else not taking proper care of themselves, but he holds it back.

The water of the shower is hotter than Will likes, but he remembers the temperature for Hannibal. As he washes Hannibal’s hair, he struggles not to lean in and lick the water dripping over Hannibal’s shoulder blades. Not to breathe in the raw scent of him at the base of neck. 

Briefly, he wonders if the right thing should really be this hard to do. 

He spins Hannibal around to bathe his front, swallowing hard at the sinuous line of him. He’s broad, lean and Will remembers how strong Hannibal’s arms felt wrapped around him. Inevitably, his cock responds, and he’s so focused on not pushing Hannibal into the wall that he can’t even will away his erection.

Hannibal never touches him, and Will sees his eyes wander, but they never make it past Will’s waist.

“You should be eating right now,” he says, so quietly it’s hard to hear him over the shower spray, and his eyes look sad. “I'm perfectly well, Will. You're not.”

“Better shape than you, clearly.”

Hannibal is hard, too, and Will struggles with not dropping to his knees. He wants to turn the man’s legs to jelly, turn off his brain and put him to bed. He wants Hannibal to smile again. To make pretentious food out of rude people and never have another hair out of place. To have Hannibal bend him over and turn his ass red, fuck him raw, make Will beg for even the privilege of breathing. 

He wants Hannibal to own him, and to own Hannibal in return. 

He wants to give up the lie. Wants to admit to himself and the world that no, he’s not a good person and no, he doesn’t care about Hannibal’s proclivities and yes, he’d like to join him one day. To experience what he’s only ever imagined in his head. To watch the light fade from someone’s eyes. Someone who doesn’t deserve that light to begin with. 

And there’s the problem, if he’s honest with himself. Killing indiscriminately. Though, truthfully, he’s pretty damned sure he’d do anything if it made Hannibal happy, and that’s altogether fucking terrifying. It’s why he’s kept the lie. It’s why he’ll continue keeping it.    
  
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gets Hannibal out and dries him off, ignoring the half-hearted protest that Hannibal makes. Once he’s dressed in loose pajama pants and nothing else, Will borrows a pair for himself and pulls them on. In this, there isn’t a hint of protest from Hannibal when Will pulls him into bed.

Slowly, carefully, he tucks himself against Will’s side, resting his head on Will’s chest. And just like that, every bit of tension leaves Hannibal’s body, and he squeezes Will tightly, sighing quietly.  

Will’s brow furrows at the display, but he nearly laughs at the utter ridiculousness of his concern for the mental health of a serial killer.

“This is supremely unhealthy, you know that, right?” Will comments, but it sounds more fond than anything else.

“I  _ am  _ a psychiatrist, Will. I've had patients before that suffered from obsessive tendencies.” Hannibal responds, already sounding half-asleep.

“And what's your diagnosis for yourself?” Will whispers, running his fingers through Hannibal's damp hair.

“Simple, darling. I'm positively mad.”

Will smiles. Hannibal sleeps. 

~****~

 

Hours later, after Will has slept far longer than he should’ve and Hannibal hasn’t slept enough, they climb out of bed silently. Hannibal doesn’t look in Will’s direction as he changes out of his pajamas, but his body language is both uncomfortable and desperate. It’s so clear that he wants to do the very things to Will that Will had been imagining earlier. He’s confused, because Will is confusing. Hot and cold. Distant and wanting.

  
They both want. So badly. 

“I’m gonna go out for dinner. Early dinner, whatever,” Will says, fidgeting awkwardly, feeling defensive for reasons he’s unsure of. 

The house is suffocating and he’s feeling better. He really should go home. There’s no reason for him to still be here. That’s not true, but Will is getting pretty good at lying to himself.

As though Will had voiced his thoughts, Hannibal’s eyes find his immediately. “May I join you?” 

He sounds so hopeful. 

“I’m not sure my choice of venue will be up to your standards.” 

“It’s not the food that I’ll be going for,” he says softly, looking down again. “Please.”   
  
Will tells himself that easing the now unbearable pain behind his ribs is why he walks over to Hannibal. He just wants it to stop for a moment, maybe two. Wants to breathe again, feel his lungs filling without a deep ache. Touching Hannibal’s cheek, kissing him softly, drowning in his scent, is only to rid himself of the pain, momentarily. 

“I can’t do this,” he whispers against Hannibal’s mouth, feeling Hannibal shudder against him. “I can’t be this close to you and not touch you. I can’t.”

Hannibal exhales harshly, and Will can feel the restraint it takes for him to keep his arms by his sides. “Tell me what to do, Will.”

_ Stop killing. _ Will doesn’t say it because it’s not what is truly in his heart.  _ Kill me. _ He doesn’t say that either, but it’s closer to the mark. Will’s clinging to morality he’s not sure he ever really had in the first place. He keeps the lie.

Clenching his jaw, he steps back and turns away, refusing to look at the expression on Hannibal’s face. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.” 

“I’ll only be a moment.”    
  
The sadness in Hannibal’s voice makes the pain bloom bright again, makes Will grip the banister of the stairway tighter to keep his legs steady.

That heavy silence is back once they’re in the car, save for Will telling Hannibal where he wants to go. He misses how easy it used to be. Hannibal’s the only person Will’s ever held conversation with that didn’t feel strained or forced. It took a madman to kindle a friendship, and that doesn’t bother Will nearly as much as it should.

The restaurant isn’t nice. It’s a dive, really, but it has good burgers that Will won’t feel bad eating, and decent beer. Hannibal looks painfully out of place, in his full suit and perfect posture at a table that’s seen better days. For a moment, the disdain on his face is clear, and he uses a paper napkin to wipe the checkered tablecloth clean.

Will couldn’t stop his grin if he wanted to. “Not a skull centerpiece in sight. I bet they didn’t even properly wash the silverware.”

Hannibal glares at him, but it’s playful. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Yeah, my kitchen.”

Hannibal chuckles, and  _ God,  _ it’s fucking beautiful. Will’s heart clenches at the sound of it. He wants to feel it pressed against his throat. Between his thighs. Breathed into his mouth. They stare at one another, and Hannibal’s expression morphs from one of amusement, to blatant longing, like he knows exactly what Will is thinking. Just as his hand comes across the table, a female voice interrupts them.

“Good to see you back, handsome,” the waitress smiles, eyes all but twinkling. She pulls a pen from her hair and taps it against the pad in her hand. “S’been a while.”

“Hello, Marie,” Will responds cordially, not even bothering with the menu.

“You want the usual?”

“Please. Exchange the beer for water, though,” he tells her, somewhat regretfully. He  _ does _ actually want to get better, despite his apparent lack of self-preservation.

“Sure thing, darling. Black and Bleu burger, loaded, with water. And for you?” She asks, glancing at Hannibal.

Hannibal, who’s looking the closest to angry Will’s ever seen him, staring directly at Marie with obvious distaste. His lips curl into a smile, patronizing at best.

“I’ll refer to the recommendation of my beloved, though I’m somewhat concerned about what you’ll consider beef in this establishment.”

His tone was perfectly neutral, of course, but the words still registers with a shock. With a curt nod, she briskly walks away, shoving the pen back behind her red ponytail.

“That was very rude, Hannibal,” Will says, somewhat shocked himself.

Hannibal takes a deep breath, and lowers his eyes. “I know,” he replies quietly.

He clearly hadn’t meant to say it. That much is obvious to Will. As though the words left him without his permission, and even he seems confused by it, furrowing his brow as he stares at the table.

_ What I feel for you is closer to obsession. _

“How far does your obsession go?” Will asks reluctantly, worried he might be pushing too hard. Himself or Hannibal, he’s not sure.

Hannibal meets his eyes again, and after an extended silence, he responds. “Every moment away from you hurts, physically, something akin to a knife being shoved between my ribs. The thought of anyone else in your presence creates an overwhelming need to protect you. And the mere suggestion that another might have interest in you triggers an irrational desire to tear them open with my bare hands. ”

Will swallows hard and has to look away. There’s a moment where he genuinely thinks his heart might pound right out of his chest, and if he thought his legs could carry him around the table, he’d most likely climb into Hannibal’s lap. “So, it's, uh... pretty intense then.”

“Yes. It is unlike anything I've ever experienced before,” Hannibal says, forcibly detached. “As you’ve just witnessed, I haven’t quite grasped how to properly handle it as of yet.”

Will can’t respond, doesn’t know how to, and looks down at his lap. Part of him wants to demand that Hannibal apologize, but what’s the point in an apology that isn’t genuine? The other part of him wants to tell Hannibal he shares those feelings, but what’s the point in a statement that will accomplish nothing but hurt?

Another waitress brings them their food a while later, and Will notices Hannibal look around the small room until he spots Marie at the front counter, visibly avoiding them. For a moment, he looks genuinely regretful.

They sit in silence, of course, and Will feels resentment bubbling in his chest. He should’ve told Hannibal to stay home. He should’ve just called a cab and gone to see his dogs. It’s clear they can’t be near each other without everything being weighted and miserable. He’s not doing either one of them any good.

Will manages to finish most of his meal, while Hannibal barely eats any of his. Still, he doesn’t let Will pay the check, and he writes in a rather large amount for the tip. Then, he stands and walks to the front counter, with Will following closely behind.

“Marie, is it?” She nods, lips pursed and an eyebrow raised, Hannibal bows his head. “I wish to apologize for my behavior earlier this evening. My week has been dreadful, and I let my base urges overcome me. I hope you can forgive me.”

She looks skeptical for a moment, but eventually relents and sighs, smiling a bit. “If he were mine, I’d probably bite the hand off anyone that got too close, too. Don’t feel bad. He’s a pretty thing.”

Will’s blush spreads from the tips of his ears all the way down his chest and he ducks his head.

“He is that,” Hannibal says, smile evident in his voice. “I hope you have a lovely evening, Marie, and if things go my way, I’ll be seeing you again.” He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.

Will rolls his eyes when he sees her flush a little, thoroughly and helplessly charmed. “Hell, if he comes in here without you, I’ll grill him ‘till the day’s end. I got you.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Will mutters, unable to keep from smiling as he turns toward the door. “I’ll be in the car when you’re through sucking up. Thank you for the delicious meal, Marie.”

Moments later, Hannibal is matching his stride down the alleyway, and Will finds himself also thoroughly charmed with this frustrating, dangerous, terribly beautiful man.

“You are maddening, you know that?” he says, looping his arm around Hannibal’s elbow.

“I do try.” Hannibal can pretend that the touch doesn’t affect him, but Will feels his slight misstep all the same.

Just as they round the corner to the parking lot, Will suddenly finds himself face to face with the tip of a blade.

“Don’t fucking move,” the man says, jittery. He’s wearing a black hoodie, but no mask. “Give me your wallet. Watch, too.”

Will doesn’t even get a chance to fully register what’s happening before Hannibal squeezes his hand, tugging him back slightly.

“That would require me to move,” Hannibal says, perfectly calm. Smoothly, he slides himself between Will and the knife. “Which is it? Remain still, or give you my belongings.”

“You think I won’t fucking cut you? Give me your shit before I slit your fucking throat.”

“Oh, I think you’d find that is more difficult than you imagine. Especially with how poorly you’ve treated your blade. It’s nearing the point of dull.”

“Hannibal,” Will whispers, wishing he’d stop goading the person holding a knife nearly to his neck. Distantly, Will realizes that he doesn’t feel any fear, only anger at being interrupted on his way home.

“You should really find a more suitable weapon for such activities. A gun, perhaps. A knife is so easily taken.”

Then, so suddenly that Will doesn’t truly see it until after it’s happened, Hannibal has reached up and wrapped his hand around the steel. Will can see it digging into the meat of his palm, a trickle of blood running over the side of Hannibal’s hand.

“What will you do now?” Hannibal asks, voice perfectly neutral, and always curious. “You could try to rip it from me. Hope that the pain convinces me to let go.”

Will reaches up to grasp Hannibal’s shoulder, for what reason he’s not sure. The man looks scared, now, eyes shifting back and forth quickly between Hannibal’s face and his weapon.

Hannibal continues.  _ “You _ can let go, and hope that I don’t kill you with it in self defense. I would advise the latter, as my paramour would most likely rather spare your life, so I'm not terribly inclined to take it.” The man swallows hard but doesn’t move. “Best make your decision quickly. We’re not likely to have the alleyway to ourselves for long.”

A few seconds of silence, long enough for Will to finally feel the beginnings of fear churn his stomach, and the man lets go of the handle and immediately sprints away, not even bothering to look back.

Will stares, jaw hanging open as Hannibal pulls the blade from his skin. He doesn’t even flinch, his breathing still steady as he drops the knife to the ground and turns around fully to look at Will.

“Are you alright, beloved?”

“Me?” Will asks incredulously, gingerly picking up Hannibal’s hand to look at the injury. “You’re insane. You’re…”

He can’t finish his thought, the anger at seeing Hannibal’s blood drip to the dirty pavement forms a lump in his throat. He wants to track the filthy scum down and give him his cheap knife back, brutally and lethally. He wants to hurt him. To instill the fear that he tried to instill in others. He wants-

When he kisses Hannibal this time, it’s not soft or sweet or gentle. It’s vicious, teeth and sharp nails in his neck as he pulls Hannibal to him, retreating until he feels the rough scrape of brick against his back. Clinging tightly, he moans and arches himself off the wall to press fully against Hannibal.

Everything he’s felt over the last month, everything he’s wanted and missed and tried so badly to deny falls away, vanishes entirely like it never existed at all. Hannibal is his. Murderer, lover, manipulator, protector. Every part of him is Will’s. He was foolish to think he could stop it, change it, will it away by pretending he cared about morals and laws and judgement. 

“I wanted you to,” Will whispers between them, digging his nails into Hannibal’s shoulder. “I wanted you to kill him. I wanted to see.”

Hannibal groans loudly, pressing Will into the wall harder, arms wrapped tight around him. “I would have. I would, still. Say the word, Will. I’ll give you anything your heart desires.”

“I can’t fight this anymore, Sir,” Will whimpers, tired and needy, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His mind swims with it. “I'm so tired of fighting this.”

“Then stop fighting, darling boy. Let me take you home. Let me have you.”

Will nods, kissing him fiercely once more.

Finally, for the first time in weeks, he feels like he can breathe again. Honesty has always been refreshing, after all.

  
Will lets go of the lie.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to DamnSlippyPlanet, as always, for the beta. Her positive comments are what keep me going, honestly.

The drive back to Hannibal’s house did nothing to quell the overwhelming need that had been building since the alleyway. Hannibal had gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white when Will slipped his hand up Hannibal’s thigh.   
  
The lie was gone and Will felt a world lighter for it. Truth be told, he wasn’t even mourning the loss of it.

They walk to Hannibal’s bathroom in silence, Will trailing behind with his hands touching Hannibal’s hands, shoulders, back, neck. Anything he can reach. Loss of contact seems unbearable now.

He’s pressing himself against the length of Hannibal’s back as Hannibal cleans the cut, using tweezers to pick out bits of dirt before doing something else that Will might’ve seen if he wasn’t so preoccupied with dragging his lips across the back of Hannibal’s neck. It won’t need stitches according to Hannibal, but Will is suspicious that Hannibal simply wants the mark to stay. He know that sentiment well.

“You didn’t even flinch,” Will murmurs, gripping Hannibal’s hips. “You were unlike anything I’ve seen. I could’ve taken him easily but I wouldn’t have- I wanted to watch you. Could’ve watched you all night, terrifying him, making him understand how horribly he chose when he pulled that knife.”

Will’s babbling, mostly incoherent due to the way Hannibal’s stuttered breathing makes heat pool low in his gut, but the words are more than truth. They’re everything Will’s wanted to say since he found out.

Everything he’s felt and wanted and needed. Hannibal is inhuman, a demon straight from the scary stories Will heard as a child, from other children looking to frighten. The same stories that Will used to hide from because they sounded so achingly familiar when he just wanted to be normal. 

 

They are just alike, and Will feels a smile stretch across his face at the thought.

But beyond all of that is the heady reminder that Hannibal had forcibly put himself between Will and a weapon. It doesn’t matter that Hannibal was never truly in danger because nothing short of divine intervention would be a match for him. He did it, immediately, without pause, and finally, _finally_ , Will feels safe again.

The man who owns him is far scarier than anything else that could possibly go bump in the night. What’s to be frightened of?

“You make me feel safe,” Will says as he spins Hannibal around to face him. “That’s more than- I mean, it’s a really big deal.” Hannibal looks at him, pensive and hopeful at once, as Will continues. “Fear has always been a large factor in my life. It’s ruled me, if I’m honest. I don’t have to be afraid with you. Or of you. Nothing I could do or say would change anything you feel for me, would it?”

“Never,” Hannibal responds, his voice low and rough. “I would carve out my own beating heart if you asked it of me, Will.” He sighs and looks away. “I thought many times over the last month of turning myself in. At least, then, I would see you. I could get a glimpse of you in court. The only reason I didn’t was hope that you would return to me.”

“I would’ve been supremely pissed at you,” Will smiles, cupping Hannibal’s cheek to force eye contact once again. “Deep down, I always knew I would end up right here.”

“Did you?” Hannibal asks, head tilting in the way that Will loves so deeply. Pure curiousity.

“We’re conjoined,” Will says simply. “I suppose I became yours when I spoke of death and your face never changed. One weekend with you, and I was lost.”

Hannibal closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Will’s, breathing deeply. “I knew, long before that, but seeing you in the hospital solidified it to a disturbing degree. I’m somewhat afraid I’ll devolve into madness, should you ever truly leave me.”

“You mean you’ll stop shaving and be rude to unexpected company?”

Hannibal breathes a quiet laugh and pulls Will tighter to him. “Mouthy boy.”

Will bites his lip and squirms, suddenly reminded of how desperate he is to be back in Hannibal’s bed. To be owned.

Slowly, Will sinks to his knees, sliding his palms up and over Hannibal’s thighs. When he reaches the buckle of Hannibal’s belt, he looks up from under his lashes to see Hannibal’s face. Enraptured.

“Will,” Hannibal breathes, gripping the countertop behind him.

“How would you have done it, Sir?” Will asks lowly, slipping the button on Hannibal’s slacks. “In a perfect world, without security cameras and time restraints.”

Hannibal inhales sharply. “I would’ve- _oh_ , my darling boy,” he groans when Will wraps his hand around Hannibal’s erection.

“Keep going?” Will makes it sound like a question, though he’s not really asking. The look on Hannibal’s face is pretty telling; Will could get away with anything right now.

“A sleeper hold, first. So that I could get him to the vehicle. Once-” His words end again when Will presses a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. “He doesn’t deserve mercy. That privilege was lost the moment he tried to harm you.”

Will shivers and wraps his lips around the head of Hannibal’s cock, splitting his mind between watching Hannibal’s face, and the imagined scene Hannibal is painting for him.

“He’s awake when I take his arms. I can’t trust any of the meat, but I still wish him to have the full experience. You’re next to me as I explain the dishes I’ll make of him. You’re smiling.”

WIll feels powerful, watching Hannibal’s chest rise and fall rapidly, hearing the breaks in his voice, seeing his eyes roll back when Will takes him deep. The vision is second to the sensation of Hannibal’s cock in his throat, and Will loses himself in it. He chokes, but keeps going, harder still when Hannibal’s hand leaves the countertop to grip Will’s hair tightly.

“In the end, you gut him. You know we won’t be consuming him, so you’ve no need to be careful. You’re glorious, Will,” Hannibal _moans_ , truly moans for the first time that Will can remember. “Bloody and beautiful, a wild, untamed siren revelling in viscera.”

Will pulls back, gasping for breath, overwhelmed and overstimulated already. Hannibal takes the opportunity to lift him up, from on his knees into Hannibal’s arms in one fluid motion. He wraps his legs around Hannibal’s waist, but it’s only a moment before Hannibal spins around to sit him on the counter.

Hannibal kisses him hard, shaking against him, moving between undressing Will and undressing himself. As though he needs everything to happen at once. Will notes that this is probably the closest that Hannibal has ever felt to manic, like slowing down for even a moment would make Will disappear. Or worse, reconsider once again.

But Will is in this. Forever, it would seem, and he’s no longer afraid and he’s no longer lying. If it lasts another hour or another century, he’s going to be exactly who he is, with the first and only person to ever accept him for just that. What he is. There’s no label for him, either.

“Sir,” Will breathes, wrapping himself completely around Hannibal, clinging for all he’s worth. “Breathe. With me,” he says against Hannibal’s lips, soothing his hand across Hannibal’s shoulders. “Slow-”

“I _can’t_ ,” Hannibal whispers harshly, gripping Will tight enough to steal his breath. He won’t open his eyes, won’t give even an inch of space between them. Hannibal is panting and digging his nails into the small of Will’s back.

“Take me to bed,” Will says, forcing his voice to be steady and authoritative, trying to feel his way through this shift of power. “Fuck me.”

Hannibal shudders and buries his face in Will’s neck, lifting him as easily as he would a child before carrying him to the bed. They go down together, Hannibal still unable to put any room between their bodies. Will rocks his hips upward, pressing his _want_ into Hannibal’s _need_. Will is trying desperately to stay aware, to keep his role in this new territory. It’s clear that Hannibal can’t, but Will is quickly fading, the sensation and desperation threatening to drown him as it so often does.

He traces harsh patterns into Hannibal’s back with his nails, narrowing Hannibal’s focus while his other hand fumbles with the drawer on the nightstand for lube. Once he has it, he slips the vial between their bottles and into Hannibal’s shaking hand. 

“Open me up but don’t take too long. I need you.”

The bottle spills against the sheets beneath them because Hannibal keeps his positioning, slicking his fingers by messily swiping his hand through the excess between Will’s legs. Will groans when Hannibal pushes two fingers inside roughly, but immediately pulls them back, mistaking Will’s noise for pain.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal whispers, almost panicked, kissing his way across Will’s face as his hand moves to the back of Will’s thigh instead. “I didn’t mean- I feel-”

“Hannibal,” Will says, reaching down to push Hannibal’s fingers back inside. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” Hannibal shakes his head, eyes clenched shut. “ _Look at me_.”

When Hannibal finally meets his gaze, it burns straight through him, incinerating his bones and organs and boiling his blood. His mouth drops open and he starts riding Hannibal’s fingers, staring up at the monster falling apart above him.

“I’m here,” Will vows. “You’re mine. I’ve got you.”

Hannibal groans and pulls his hand from Will’s body, rough and rushed, and almost immediately, Will feels the blunt head of Hannibal’s cock pushing into him. 

It’s like the first time all over again. Shocked that someone could want him enough for this. Ecstasy from the pain-pleasure of being filled. Elation at feeling whole. There’s every emotion under the sun all bouncing off of one another in his mind and heart and body but Hannibal’s pained noises manage to keep him in the moment.

“Feel me,” Will whispers, scratching the skin over Hannibal’s ribcage. “I’m right here. I _see_ you, and I’m right here.”

Hannibal bites at Will’s shoulder, close to tearing the flesh away entirely before his jaw loosens around a moan, rolling his hips quickly. Will can do little else but hold on, trying to ignore how his cock aches. He wants this to last as long as possible, wants to watch Hannibal disintegrate from passion over and over again. Wants Hannibal to always look at him the way he is now; like Will is the entirety of the universe. Will cants his hips to meet Hannibal’s movements.

“Will,” Hannibal rasps, a rough noise escaping his throat. “It feels...”

“Like I'm killing you,” Will supplies, tightening himself around Hannibal’s cock. He knows that feeling so well.

“ _Yes_.”

“I know, Sir.”

Hannibal’s breath leaves him in a rush, like a physical response to being crushed, and he goes still for about two seconds before pounding into Will even harder. The headboard scrapes against the wall.

“Do not come,” Hannibal orders.

Will shivers. It feels like ages since he's heard that tone. The dominance in Hannibal’s voice. Will can practically feel Hannibal’s pieces coming together again under his hands. Not any more solid than he was a moment ago, just rearranged. Realigned with himself, prepared to form the elegant grace that is Hannibal Lecter once more, when he’s ready to.

Will can’t wait to see it.

Hannibal’s punishing thrusts steal his breath. His muscles burn with exertion and they’re both covered in sweat.

“You’ve done this to me, you terrible, beautiful creature. There's something in you that resembles a magnet for me,” Hannibal growls, his lip curling into a snarl. “I'm going to cut it out.”

If Will could find his voice, he’d beg for it. He’d plead to be ripped open, torn apart, anything Hannibal wanted if he can just keep going. Will’s toes curl when Hannibal hits his prostate, and his hands come up to tangle in Hannibal’s hair.

“Sir, please,” Will cries, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of unbearable pleasure.

Hannibal wraps his large hand around Will’s throat and squeezes, then his other to tighten the grip even further and Will finds himself unable to draw any breath at all. His body seizes with panic and his cock jerks heavily against his stomach. Somehow, the only thought formulating amidst the white noise is not disobeying.

“Come. Now, Will, come for me.” Hannibal eases his grip entirely.

Simultaneously, ropes of heat paint his belly and chest as he heaves for breath. He gasps and fucks himself harder onto Hannibal’s cock, riding each wave of pleasure until his body sags under Hannibal’s weight, exhausted and thoroughly drained.

Hannibal looks down at him, eyes wild as his thrusts turn erratic. Will turns his head into Hannibal’s palm, sluggish, floating through the high of endorphins. His lips find the cut, drawing a ragged moan from Hannibal. Meeting Hannibal’s stare, he sinks his teeth into the skin around the wound, forcing it open enough that Will tastes copper.

Hannibal comes hard, grunting, pushing his hand against Will’s mouth forcefully as his hips jerk. It seems to go on for eternity, Will slowly dragging his tongue through the fresh blood as Hannibal shakes above him.

Finally, Hannibal collapses beside him, but pulls Will to face him on his side, as close as they can possibly be in this position.

Will is going to pass out for two days, he’s pretty sure. Every part of him aches pleasantly, and Hannibal is so warm. Happiness blooms in his chest, and the pain that took up home behind his ribs for so long seems like a distant memory. Will is exactly where he should be.

“Mm,” Will sighs, giddy but too exhausted to truly show it. When he opens his eyes, however, he sees Hannibal looking bewildered, staring at Will with a worried crease between his brows. Certainly not the look of a man that just had the best sex of his life.

Will swallows and tentatively asks, “what’s wrong?”

Hannibal is silent just long enough for Will to feel self conscious. He’s fighting the urge to turn away when Hannibal speaks, his voice filled with confusion. “You should be terrified of me. For the first time ever in my life, I'm not sure what I'm capable of.”

Relieved, Will smiles and slides his arm over Hannibal’s ribs, curling further into him. “I'm sure you'll manage to keep your beast at bay.”

Hannibal stares at Will with blinding intensity. “I don't think I'll ever be able to let you go now.”

“You're saying you'll kill me if I try to leave?”

“Yes,” Hannibal responds, looking saddened but entirely serious.

Will closes his eyes and tucks his head beneath Hannibal’s chin, hiding his grin. “Good.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left, and then a 5 chapter sequel. My goal is to have it all posted at once, by the end of May. Cross your fingers, and thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal doesn't handle being in love very well. He's really, really bad at the whole 'being human' thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.... it's done and... yeah, just, read the notes at the bottom. Love y'all.

Will rubs at his eyes behind his glasses, trying to ward off what feels like the beginnings of a migraine. The light from the fire is too bright, but the heat feels wonderful on his face after being outside with the dogs. Buster still hasn’t adjusted to city life, or Hannibal’s museum-like house, and Winston insists on sleeping in their bed, much to Hannibal’s disdain. So, Will has been working more with them on commands and signals, but they all seem to focus better outside in the backyard. Where it’s currently below thirty. 

To say that Will was surprised when Hannibal asked him -and all of the dogs- to move in would be an understatement. Then again, it’s only until they compromise on something of their own making. Will prefers solitude and quiet, whereas Hannibal enjoys the bustling life that comes with the city. It seems more likely that they’ll wind up building, but nothing has been set in stone yet.

Well, except that, wherever they go, the basement needs to be large, and so does the guest bedroom.

Sighing, Will takes a slow slip of his whiskey and considers, once again,  _ why _ either of those two things need to be significantly sized. It’s not as though the basement has seen any use, nor has the idea of  _ play _ been incorporated in… Christ. Months.

It’s as though Hannibal would rather pretend that he’s not a Dominant, or a murderer. Despite Will’s best attempts to remind him otherwise. There’s no use in pretending anymore, and Will doesn’t want him to. If anything, Will had thought Hannibal would look forward to sharing that part of himself with Will.

But, fuck, Will doesn’t even need the murder at this point. Just a spanking would do.

Will’s been avoiding the conversation, because he knows Hannibal will be Hannibal. He’ll give Will exactly what he wants, and that’s the problem. Will doesn’t want it because _he_ wants it, he wants Hannibal to want to give it to him. Will is a submissive, and yes, vanilla sex with Hannibal is great but there’s a collar - _temporary collar_ , his brain supplies- sitting at his throat and it’s supposed to mean something.

Will doesn’t know why Hannibal is being this way but he’s going to find out. He’s tired, and agitated, and sick of dancing around issues that he’d thought had already been resolved.

“Have you and the small one reached an agreement?”

Will looks up to see Hannibal standing next to his chair, shirtless, wearing silk pajama bottoms and his hair still slightly damp from the shower. The fire dances in shadows across his bare skin and still, even now, Will can’t bear to look away from him.

“He still hates it here,” Will answers, swallowing the roughness from his voice as he tugs Hannibal to stand between his legs. “We’ve gotta find him some place with land. He’s a roamer.”

“You’ve yet to give me a definitive answer,” Hannibal says, combing his fingers through Will’s hair as he looks down at him. “We can start looking for land, darling. I’m sure there’s an abundance of options for us.”

_ Darling .  _ It’s sweet, yeah, and the first ten times it made Will’s stomach twist but, God, how he misses other names. Names spoken with a hard edge and a warning.  _ On your knees, boy . _

“Let’s call the realtor tomorrow. We should’ve just agreed to build from the fucking beginning.”

_ How many strokes are you aiming for, slave? _

“It’s a large decision. It’s only logical that you’d need time to think it over.”

“You make it sound as though it’s only mine.”

Hannibal leans down and kisses Will gently, dragging his lips over Will’s cheek. “It’s always been yours, beloved,” he whispers.

Will shivers, eyes drifting shut as he reaches up to touch Hannibal’s neck. “Sir…”

Hannibal pulls away,  _ entirely away _ _,_ stepping backward and holding out his hand. “Bed, yes? I’ve an early morning and Winston is sure to have his hair all over my pillow by now.”

Will manages to cover his sigh as he takes Hannibal’s hand, following him out of the study. As hard as he tries, he can’t help but feeling like maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the submissive that Hannibal wants after all.

He gets very little sleep.

~***~

Reconnaissance work was never Will’s specialty, but how he’s filled his Thursday nights for the last month have been relatively satisfying. He has a plan, and the proper tool for it, now. Hannibal thinks he’s at Beverly’s, but Will will come clean once it’s all in motion. He’s beyond grateful for the conversation he overheard while scouting this particular conversation.

“See that dude over there? With the overgrown beard?” One man had said to his dancing partner. “Stay away from him. He’s a prick. Likes to drug you and drag you back to his place.”

Will’s been watching him ever since. And yes, Derrick Montagne is a disgusting human being. Will is more than anxious to rid the world of him. Now, after snapping a few pictures of his deeds, he’s going to head home and present this to Hannibal. Finally show him exactly how eager he is to share this particular act with Hannibal.  

There’s got to be some invisible wall that Hannibal is having trouble climbing. He’s been the Chesapeake Ripper for years and a Dominant for longer but suddenly, he’s wanting to be a settled, middle-aged, run-of-the-mill psychiatrist? No. It’s confusing and infuriating, so Will is just going to be as forward as possible.

They’re sitting by the fire, enjoying whiskey after dinner when Will pulls out the envelope.

“What’s this?” Hannibal asks, head tilting.

Will slides out the pictures, ignoring his pounding heart and the sweat on his palms.

“His name is Derrick Montagne. He enjoys going to bars, slipping a pill into a man’s drink, and then taking advantage of him in every way possible.”

A beat of silence before Hannibal gives a slow nod. “I see.”

“He’s also been known to enjoy underage boys.”

“A vile creature,” Hannibal remarks coolly, no longer looking at the picture but into the fire.

Will searches his profile, feeling desperate and all but willing a sign of interest from the man before him. Anything to let him know that Hannibal feels the same. Another thirty seconds of silence and Will feels his heart sink.

Hannibal finally speaks, quiet and reserved. “He’s definitely something to keep in mind once we’ve settled.”

Will clenches his jaw, looking away. “How much more settled do we need to be, Hannibal?”

There’s a slight twitch under Hannibal’s eye at the use of his name from Will’s mouth, but it’s not as though he can call it out. Not when he’s the one adamantly refusing to do anything about it.

“I only meant more time to-”

“To what?” Will exclaims, standing from the chaise and walking away. “It’s been months, do you realize that? Do you realize you haven’t dominated me in fucking months? I’ve got this collar- I’m sorry, this  _ temporary collar _ around my neck and it means nothing.” Hannibal is looking at him worriedly now but after letting it simmer for so long, Will can’t bring himself to stop. “You know, last week, I spent an hour just looking at your implements and wondering why they haven’t been used. I want them  _ so much  _ and you…” Will sighs, feeling drained already. He braces himself and refuses to look away. “Am I- do you not want me like you thought you did? I know I’m not… I mean, I have a fucking mirror, I’m not stupid but I just- I thought-”

Before Will can complete the thought, Hannibal is standing and gripping his face in his hands, trembling. “Will, my beloved, no, _no_. Never. You’re perfect, you must know that. I could never find you anything less than perfect, please-”

“Then what is it?” Will asks, refusing the tears that are stinging at his eyes. “What did I do wrong, Sir?”   

“Nothing, darling, you’ve done  _ nothing _ wrong. I want you just as much now as the first time I met you,” Hannibal says, kissing his way across Will’s flushed face. “I simply want to be the man you need.”

“You  _ are _ ,” Will swears.

Hannibal pulls him close, murmuring against his cheek. “The man you deserve, then. Someone worthy of your adoration and loyalty. You need someone that can-”

“What I need is a fucking Dominant, Hannibal. That’s what I need.”

When Hannibal doesn’t speak, simply rests his head on top of Will’s, all Will can do is swallow and back away. He looks at Hannibal’s face, at the obvious concern and sadness etched across his brow, the downward turn of his lips, and he walks out of the room. Up the stairs and to the armoire next to the bed, where the key to his collar rests.

With steady hands and strong resolve, he removes the collar and places it on the nightstand next to the bed. He can’t be without Hannibal anymore than he can be without air, so he supposes he simply isn’t a submissive any longer.

He’s too tired to feel his heart break. He sleeps in the guest bedroom.

~***~

The collar isn’t mentioned, and it’s another two days before Will starts sleeping in the bed with Hannibal again.

They find a piece of land and begin building their home. They pick out curtains and dishes and Will never calls Hannibal ‘Sir’ anymore. That’s never mentioned either. They stay at Hannibal’s and go back and forth to their new home, transitioning and settling on finer details. The dogs love the space. Will loves the two-story, open floor plan. Hannibal loves the large kitchen. They fuck almost every night.

Will teaches his classes and Hannibal sees his patients. Jack doesn’t call as much as he used to, and that’s okay. Will doesn’t miss it. 

They eat dinners and go to the opera on occasion, and never, ever mention the elephant in the guest room, or the uselessly stocked basement.  

~***~

It’s been three months and Will still isn’t used to the light fixtures in their new home. Or maybe it’s his nerves that are making him forgetful.

His stomach is in knots as he grabs the bottle of Rothschild. Drinking this alone should warrant a terrible sort of punishment, nevermind… everything else. As if on cue, he hears the front door open and a very confused, “Adam?” 

Swallowing hard and steeling himself, he walks back into the kitchen, finding two sets of eyes on him; one set blue, and one set very  _ hard _ maroon. 

“Adam, who’s this?” Derrick Montagne asks, looking directly at Will.

Will gives an easy smile and a pointed look at Hannibal. “Oh, this is Nigel. My roommate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all this chapter gave me the worst block, you don't understand. I went and wrote for another fandom because this Hannibal just REFUSED to act right. I realized I was finished with the sequel and was like, "the fuuuuuuck, just get through it so you can move on." Basically, fuck you, Hannibal, for being a pain in my ass. 
> 
> Sooooo, yeah. Um… I’m sorry? For everything, but mostly because I know this is not what people were expecting BUT the sequel is almost entirely completed and picks up exactly where this left off so… I love you guys bunches. And don't worry, Hannibal gets his head back on straight, I promise.
> 
> Hey, remember when this was just supposed to be fun, kinky smut with some Ripper thrown in? Because I don't. *rolls eyes*

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are, essentially, my heroin, and I've no intention of going to rehab. Thanks for reading.


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